


Taking This One to the Grave

by lco123, speakpirate



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Crossover, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-08-11 03:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 48
Words: 72,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7874995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lco123/pseuds/lco123, https://archiveofourown.org/users/speakpirate/pseuds/speakpirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Spencer squints at the woman. “Who are you?” she asks insistently.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Buffy squares her shoulders, putting her hands on her hips. She looks almost like a superhero in this stance. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I’m the person who’s here to help you.”</i>
</p>
<p>The Scooby Gang showing up in Rosewood might just be the Liars’ key to solving this A-mystery once and for all.</p>
<p>_________________________________________________________________________________________</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to the Hellmouth

**Author's Note:**

> _This story takes place a few years post-Buffy Season 7, and starts up after PLL 7x06 (minus the last 5 minutes)._

The headlights of the car cut through the rain-soaked darkness of the deserted road. The twisted shapes of trees stretch ominously along the side of the road, shadowy outlines against the stormy black sky. A sound echoes through the night. 

_Crunch._

_Crunch._

Buffy Summers tosses a third Frito in the air and catches it in her mouth with a resounding chomp.

“What?” she says, as Giles sighs deeply and shoots her an exasperated look.

“I’m keeping my reflexes sharp. Besides, I’m bored. I think the Chosen One should be chosen to drive.”

Spike smirks at her, drums his fingers against the steering wheel just to be annoying. She shifts her gaze to Faith, or at least to Faith’s scuffed leather boots resting casually on the dashboard. Attached to Faith’s long denim clad legs, which she’d clearly put there just to be provocative. Just to see if she could still get a rise out of her, maybe cause a little trouble. Because trouble was basically Faith’s middle name. Maybe her first name, too. And her last. 

She refocuses on Spike. “Do you even _have_ a license?”

“Well, I used to just bite anyone who bothered pulling me over,” he shrugs. “So it didn’t matter too much.”

She leans forward, poking her head between the seats, trying to study the map spread over Faith’s lap. “Are we there yet?”

“Red, I swear to God, you couldn’t just open a portal or something?” Faith asks, swatting Buffy’s hand as she reaches towards the map.

Willow looks up from the big binder of research she’s studying and puts a hand on Buffy’s knee. She smiles, her eyes bright with happiness even in the dim light of the car. Looking at her girlfriend still sometimes fills Buffy with a small sense of wonder, a huge gratitude that they’re together, that this is real. That they both made it out of Sunnydale alive and managed to wash up on the shores of adulthood with the realization that their connection went deeper than friendship. 

“We’re trying to be incognito,” Willow reminds everyone. “Portals are all Woo-look-at-me-and-my-flashy-magic-arrival!”

“Portals say woo?” Buffy asks.

“Well,” Willow concedes, “only the really showy ones.”

Buffy leans back and puts her head on Willow’s shoulder, wishes her Slayer senses didn’t pick up the way Spike hastily averts his eyes, the way Faith’s posture tenses. She’s been with Willow for three years now, long enough for it to be old news, for everyone to get over themselves and get used to it. For Xander to have run through almost his entire stockpile of lesbian joke humor, even.

It wasn’t _her_ fault if Spike normally dealt with it by volunteering for the most far flung assignments on the docket, keeping oceans and continents and impenetrable time zones between them. Or if Faith opted to spend the last few years underground, cleaning out nests of Pythius demons.

“Do you want to read up on the Hellmouthy stuff?” Willow asks, running a casual hand through Buffy’s hair. 

“There should be a concert shirt,” Buffy muses. “Hellmouth: The World Tour. Sunnydale. Cleveland. Easter Island. Zhengzhou. And now Roseworm.”

“Rosewood,” Giles corrects her. “And as we’ve discussed, this particular location has a number of atypical elements.” 

“Every Hellmouth’s it’s own special snowflake,” Spike mutters.

“Nah,” Faith chimes in. “You seen one, you seen ‘em all. Big hole. Freaky demons. Apocalypse dance party.” 

“As I was saying, the Rosewood Hellmouth is actually quite unique. It exhibits some marvellously unusual characteristics, which -”

“Ooooh,” Willow says, raising her hand. “Like, it’s smaller! Not so much of a Hellmouth as it is more of a Hellnavel. Or maybe a Hellnostril?”

Buffy squeezes her hand. “You know I love you, but please don’t ever say Hellnostril again.”

Faith’s hand tightens on the map, rumpling the western part of Pennsylvania. Willow nods in agreement as Giles clears his throat.

“It is smaller,” he continues. “But if our initial research is correct, it’s also set into the Earth at such an angle that much of its energy appears to be refracted. The Hellmouth in Rosewood serves as a bit of a negative meniscus for mystical energy, you see -”

“We didn’t all eat a metaphysical maths book for breakfast, Rupert,” Spike interjects. “We’re nearly there, and if I’m going to be fighting mucas monsters, I’ll need to leave my coat in the car.”

Buffy grinned. It was actually kind of nice, having everyone squabbling together again. Like emotional comfort food.

“Think of it like a mirror,” Willow explains. “Or a magnifying glass. A lot of the mystical energy beams over to a town called Ravenswood. Ghosties, ghoulies, strange looking fireflies that are a big hit on the underworld pinterest boards.”

“Underworld pinterest boards?” Giles repeats, puzzled. “The point is, Rosewood itself isn’t quite as active as we might expect a regularly sized Hellmouth to be.”

“So what’s the big fuss?” Faith asks, curiously. She twists in her seat to peer back at Buffy, her face a mask of smoky eye make up. “Why the all hands on deck road trip, if it’s a mini-mouth or whatever?”

“Hellmouth’s a Hellmouth,” Spike says. “Heavy duty magic rumbling around inside it and such.”

“Which is why we’re scouting it out,” Buffy agrees, munching on more Fritos. “A few big guns are better than a squadron of newbies. They don’t blend in! Last month the we had a platoon battling a couple of warlocks, and we had to pretend they were chasing Justin Bieber to cover for why it looked like a herd of elephants had trampled downtown Cleveland.”

“We need a training site,” Willow adds. “The thing about calling all the slayers is that now, we have all these new slayers. A place to sort of ease them into all things Hellmouthy.”

“Rosewood may be ideal in that respect,” Giles agrees. “Low rents, lots of abandoned factories, fairly sleepy, as far as we can tell.” 

“How sleepy are we talking here?” Faith wonders. “Like, power nap? Or six month coma?”

“Light on the end of the world stuff,” Willow answers. “But lots of creepy unsolved crimes and a twelve percent death rate.”

“Not bad,” Spike nods. “Though not good, I suppose, for the residents.”

“Indeed.”

Buffy grins. She loves hearing Giles all British and sarcastic. Can you have a good feeling about a Hellmouth? Not that they’re ever warm and fuzzy, but maybe forcing everyone to work together again will finally get them over the speed bump of post-apocalyptic big gay awkward. The Hellnavel will be a perfect base of operations, a place to break in green slayers and fight perfectly portion controlled evil. She almost laughs at herself. It’s Willow, she thinks, and maybe not having the weight of the world fall so heavily on her shoulders these days. She hasn’t died in almost seven years. She’s getting almost optimistic again, imagining this adventure will end with high fives instead of hard feelings. 

The tires squeal loudly, interrupting her positive thought parade. The car slides into a controlled skid as Spike spins the wheel and slams on the brakes. The rear bumper hits the “Welcome to Rosewood” sign cleanly and deliberately, knocking it flat on the ground.


	2. Faith, Hope, and Stalk

Faith stretches and looks around the town square of Rosewood. White clapboard church, cutesy coffeeshop bookstore, an actual white picket fence around somebody’s yard. Seriously? She rubs at the prickle on the back of her neck.

“You alright?” Spike asks.

“Yeah,” she answers, pulling her right elbow across her chest to loosen her shoulder muscles. “Suburbs give me the creeps.”

He nods and arranges his face into that ex-punk sneer. The one that makes him look like the kind of guy who’d kick in your teeth for fun. The kind of guy who might be staring at B’s ass right now, but not because he cares about her or whatever.

She ignores Buffy’s tight pink yoga pants. Bends down to check her boots instead. A set of wicked lethal knives concealed in the right and a small flask tucked into the left. She pulls it out and takes a long swig of Jack Daniels, thinks of offering some to Spike. Nah. No sense starting a club or anything. 

She’s not immortal. She doesn’t have lifetimes to waste mooning over Buffy Summers. She glances at Spike as he watches Willow massage Buffy’s shoulders a few feet away. The metal flask starts to bend in her hand before she realizes how hard she’s gripping it.

For a split second, flashes back to the golden days of Want. Take. Have. B’s body pressed against her at the club, the feel of leather pants sliding together on the dance floor. She likes remembering them like that, all sweaty and hot for each other. She doesn’t like remembering the other time, so she doesn’t. Mostly.

She notices movement, a bunch of girls heading down a side street, the only thing moving at this hour. They’re five of them in pack formation, throwing up serious defensive postures. Less cocky than a prison gang, but not by much. There’s a scrawny brunette in a long coat in the point position, seems to look over her shoulder every five seconds, eyes sweeping the perimeter. No way they’re just out having a fashion show at this hour.

Faith looks over at Buffy, sees that she’s clocked the group already, is jerking her head to indicate they should all follow. She starts off after them, holding Red’s hand like she wants to make sure they don’t lose each other.

Things are different now.

Want. Leave Alone. Kill something till you feel better. 

Faith hopes they run into some demons. Soon.

\-----

The sketchy girl posse has two blondes and three brunettes, one of whom is wearing an army jacket and definitely doesn’t drive stick. Faith’s observations are cut short when Spike points out a cluster of spindly yellowish demons creeping up from a sewer grate in a nearby alley.

“You boys a welcoming committee?” Buffy asks, as one of them rushes to attack her. “Small towns are so friendly!”

Faith lands a kick to the second demon’s neck. It staggers backwards, then lunges for her with its slimy looking hands. She delivers a solid right hook, left cross combo. 

“How would you rate its resilience score?” Willow asks. “On a scale of one to ten?”

“Three,” Buffy says, as she pummels her attacker to the ground. 

Faith hears Spike vamp out as he tosses the one he’s fighting against a dumpster.

“Oooh, what about his grip strength?” Willow asks, her pencil at the ready. 

Faith sweeps the legs out from under the one that she’s fighting, keeping one eye on Buffy, who lets the demon grab her arm, then breaks his wrist with a quick twisting motion.

“One and a half,” she answers, giving Red a little wink.

Faith moves closer to her opponent, sinks her fist into his stomach. She gets into a good rhythm. Jab. Uppercut. Elbow to the snout. Do they have to be so fucking _cute_ all the time? Jab. Roundhouse kick. Bob and weave. Like those damn Merry Hanukkah Solstice cards they sent last year. The one where they were both dressed like elves and kissing under the mistletoe. Hard jab. Axe kick. Head butt.

“How viscous is the slime?” Willow’s voice cuts through her train of thought. 

“On a scale of one to ten?” Spike responds, smashing his demon’s head against the brick wall as slime pours out of its ears. “It’s revolting.”

“He means six,” Buffy suggests, as Spike growls angrily at his assailant. “It’s like the peanut sauce we had at that Thai place.” 

Faith punches her demon so hard that a few fangs go flying. 

“Were those canines? Or incisors?”

“Dunno,” Faith grunts, nailing him with a kick in the chest that sends him careening towards Willow. The witch waves her hand and the demon bounces backwards, levitates for a second, then falls with a crash into the dumpster.

Impressive. But kind of cheating.

He comes out clutching a mannequin leg that he tries to use as a club. Faith knocks it out of his hand and sends him sprawling with roundhouse spinning heel kick combo.

Crushing jab. Hard kick. Haymaker.

There’s a loud crack as Spike twists the neck of his demon, then drops the body to the ground. 

Faith flips one of the knives out of her boot and hurls it, watches impassively as it cleaves the demon’s forehead.

Buffy lets the last one charge at her before ducking out of the way and revealing a jagged piece of rebar floating in the air behind her. He’s impaled by the force of his own momentum, with a gross squelching sound. 

Faith heads out of the alley, scans their surroundings, looking for any sign of their original ladies of interest. While also avoiding the sight of the dynamic duo smooching and hugging and high fiving over their big success. The girls are just visible, standing and talking in front of a big old house maybe three quarters of a mile down the street. 

She rubs her hands on her jeans to wipe off the last of the slime, and starts heading quietly after them, Spike and the lovebirds on her heels.

Spike holds up his hand, points to a black clad figure across the street and half a block down, staring at the young women from behind a tree. Who are these chicks? Or is this the kinda town where you can’t go a few blocks at night without a demon attack and a hooded creeper run in? 

The tiniest of the girls is wearing giant feathery earrings and a big ole diamond on her finger. They could be about to get mugged, maybe. Nothing weird about that. The girls are moving off again, heading into a nicely landscaped backyard. 

Faith motions for the others to follow her, as she follows the unseen follower. Like a stealth parade around here. Looks like the girls are heading into the woods. Cause that’s always a good idea at night. She rolls her eyes and almost trips over a planter.

“Witches,” Spike theorizes. “Nightly pagan rituals.”

“I don’t get a witchy vibe,” Willow says. “They’re so furtive. Maybe werewolf groupies?”

“Whoever they are, somebody’s shadowing them,” Buffy declares.

“We’re shadowing them,” Spike points out.

“But we’re the good guys,” Willow says simply. “So it’s way less menacing.”

The girls are moving with all the subtlety of a herd of buffalo. Stepping on twigs, shrieking at tree branches, one of the blondes is cracking her gum, and the other one is carrying a flashlight with a hella bright beam. Their stalker, on the other hand, is moving silently and fluidly, flitting from tree to tree, always keeping to cover. Hunter’s instincts. 

Faith moves like a panther, sleek and deadly. The trees are getting denser, the girls are pulling ahead and even their mystery guest is briefly out of sight. Which is, naturally, when all hell breaks loose. Or all Hellmouth. Whatever.

There’s crashing and thrashing and everything else you need for a good struggle soundtrack.

They rush forward, and Faith sees a light in the distance. A shack. Closer to home, Black Hoodie is kung fu fighting with two female vamps. Faith’s never been much for hesitation. She breaks off a branch and jumps in, staking one just as their quarry pulls a whittled piece of wood out of her sleeve and dusts the other.

Faith stares in disbelief at the face beneath the hood.


	3. New in Town

Ashley has once before had the experience of witnessing another person slay a vampire right in front of her, but that doesn’t make it any more shocking to see it again. Being a Slayer—or at least the way it used to be—there are certain ideas that get drilled into you from day one, and the most important of these ideas is that you are the only one. The chosen one. The one in all the world who’s relied upon to keep things safe.

Even if Ashley’s particular set of circumstances has made it so she's known, logically, that she isn't the only Slayer out there, well—it’s one thing to know that in your mind and another thing to believe it deep down. Into every generation a girl is born, and all that. It’s a hard message to not internalize.

Which is all to say that when Ashley finds herself face-to-face with a young brunette vampire slayer, she feels more than a little surprised. “Yo, Grandma, you okay in there?” the girl asks. “You got some pretty sweet moves for a—”

“Faith!” the blonde girl beside her jumps in, stepping forward. “Please excuse her. I think she’s just surprised because you’re so…old.” The girl’s cheeks pink. “I did not mean to say it like that.”

Ashley frowns, but she can’t help the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. There’s something about this girl that instantly reminds her of Hanna. There’s four in the crew all together: the brunette, the blonde, a redheaded girl, and a blonde man with the kind of smirk that would have made Ashley weak in the knees fifteen years ago. They’ve all been fighting for a while, from the looks of it—so has Ashley—but it seems the demons have given them at least a moment of peace for now.

“I’m fine,” Ashley says finally. “Now who are all of you?”

“Buffy,” the blonde girl says. She seems to be in charge. “And this is Willow”—she takes the redhead’s hand as indication—“and Spike and Faith.” She points respectively to the blonde man and the brunette.

“And what brings you to Rosewood?” Ashley asks.

“We could ask you the same thing,” the man, Spike, quips. He’s got an accent. British. Clearly going for that whole Billy Idol thing. And…he’s a vampire.

“Do you have a soul?” Ashley asks, curious. “Because I’ve heard about that sort of thing, but I’ve never seen it.”

“Yeah, he’s our little defanged puppy,” Faith replies.

“Hey, I could still take a bite out of you if I wanted!” Spike insists, stepping toward Faith without any real menace.

Faith smirks. “Is that a promise, Big Boy?”

“Guys!” Buffy says with frustration. “Let the woman talk!”

“I live here,” Ashley tells them. “And I know everyone in this town. You guys, I’ve certainly never seen before.” One of the branches above them starts to crack, sloping downward. Ashley motions for the group to move away from the trees, walking them back out of the patch of woods and closer toward the lights of town.

“We’re…traveling circus performers?” the redhead offers weakly, still holding onto Buffy’s hand. Willow. Ashley can see that. She looks like a Willow.

Even in the darkness, Ashley catches Faith rolling her eyes. “C’mon, Red, she just saw me stake a vamp.” She squares her shoulders, then announces, “I’m a vampire slayer. So’s Blondie over there. And you, apparently, are too?”

Ashley stops walking as they arrive at the sidewalk. “I am,” Ashley says quietly.

“How?” Buffy asks.

Ashley’s about to answer when she hears a familiar voice call out, “Mom?” She whirls around and there, edging out of the woods, are Hanna and Emily. “What are you doing out here?” Hanna asks. “And who are they?”

Ashley glances between the small group assembled around her and her daughter and Emily. Buffy and Willow are exchanging awkward glances and Faith seems preoccupied with getting some demon muck off her show. Spike, meanwhile, is lighting a cigarette. Some help they are.

“Uh…nature walk! This is my nature group.” Ashley supplies quickly.

Spike snorts, but when Ashley offers him a sharp glance he adds, “Oh yeah, I just love the smell of rotting pine in the middle of the night.”

Hanna looks at her dubiously, so Ashley folds her arms. “And what are you two doing in the woods in the middle of the night?” she asks in her best Mom voice.

Hanna raises one shoulder, a bit sheepish. “Umm…we were helping Alison find something.”

“Yeah!” Emily jumps in. “She thought she lost her…shoe.”

“In the woods?” Willow asks, raising an eyebrow.

Hanna scowls. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I caught your name,” she says with a bit of venom.

“This is Willow,” Ashley tells her. She glances down at the notebook Willow’s been clutching. “She does our sketches. Of trees and other assorted plants.”

“Yeah. I’m a whiz with a pencil,” Willow says with some nervous enthusiasm. “They call me…uh…Sketchy Nature Girl.”

 _Sketchy Nature Girl?_ Faith mouths in Spike’s direction. Hanna raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Han,” Emily whispers, tugging at Hanna’s arm. They both glance back toward the woods.

Ashley knows the girls are up to something—they usually are—but she’s distracted. A little ways down the block, two bulky figures are heading toward her. Vampires, though their faces still look normal. Ashley looks to Buffy, hoping that maybe she can activate some kind of Slayer mind connection. It must work, or maybe Buffy notices at the exact same moment, because she straightens up and elbows Willow.

“Hanna and Emily, I need you to go,” Ashley says lowly, her tone devoid of any levity. “Now.”

Hanna looks down the street, noticing the two men. “More nature club members?” she asks sarcastically, clearly not buying the story Ashley’s selling.

“Hanna,” Ashley warns. The two vamps are heading closer. Ashley’s going to need to spring into action any second.

“Em! Han!” a voice calls from the woods. Alison’s. “We need you!”

“C’mon, Han,” Emily instructs.

Hanna sighs and rolls her eyes. “We’re so talking about this later,” she says, before bouncing back off into the woods with Emily.

No sooner have the girls disappeared than the vamps start to charge. Buffy, the closest still to the branches, grabs three and tosses one to Faith and one to Ashley. Faith rushes forward, all fists and action, incapacitating one of the vamps enough for Ashley to stake him. Buffy and Spike, meanwhile, battle the other vamp quickly; when Ashley next looks up, he’s dust as well.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Willow suggests from where she was watching on the sidelines.

“We still have a few things to discuss,” Ashley points out, catching her breath. “Like why you’re here.”

“Well, we initially came here to set up a training facility for Slayers,” Buffy explains. “But now I’m pretty curious about what those girls are up to.”

“Yeah, they definitely had an end-of-the-world vibe to them,” Willow says. “Whether that means starting it or preventing it, I’m not so sure.” She turns to Ashley. “That blonde one’s your daughter?”

“She is,” Ashley affirms. “You saw all of them earlier? Five girls in their early twenties?”

“Looking like they just walked out of a shampoo commercial?” Faith confirms. “Yep, the very ones.”

Ashley chuckles. “They’ve got a lot going on, but they’re not trying to end the world.” She frowns. “At least, I really hope they aren’t.”

“Then why the high sketch-o-meter?” Faith asks.

Before Ashley can respond, a text tone sounds and Buffy pulls her phone out. “It’s Giles,” she tells the group. “Sounds like he’s found something interesting.” She looks up at Ashley. “I think you’d better come with us. We have more stuff to go over.”

Ashley considers for a moment. “As long as no one calls me old again, I’ll come with,” she says finally.

“I make no promises,” Faith snickers.

Ashley ignores that, instead asking, “Where are you headed? We can take my car.”

Buffy reads off her phone. “The Lost Woods Resort.”

Ashley feels a stab of anxiety go through her gut, but she pushes it down as best she can. “Okay,” she says softly. “Let’s go.”


	4. Found and Lost Woods

Giles pulls up to the Lost Woods Resort just before midnight. His first determination is that “resort” seems to be an awfully generous term; the large neon sign out front flickers like a flame on its way out. The building itself is short but sprawling, with the look of a place that spent some years in disrepair.

Still, as he gets out of the car—one of three in the lot—he can see that the apparent office is still illuminated. As he steps inside the simply appointed office, he sees one person at the counter, a woman who appears to be about his age. She has dark hair and is dressed entirely in black, making her pale skin look almost shockingly white. As Giles approaches the counter, he studies her carefully. In a town like this, details are important, he knows, and there’s an unnerving stillness about her that he finds familiar. Quite familiar, in fact.

“Hello,” the woman says, her voice low and nearly monotone. “My name is Mary. How can I help you?”

Giles blinks twice and tries to normalize his gaze. “Yes, thank you. I’d like to book a room. A few rooms, actually.”

The hard line of Mary’s mouth draws into a small smile. “What a lovely accent,” she says, though she doesn’t sound entirely complimentary. “I’ve known a few Englishman in my time. Is it business that bring you here?” She pauses, her smile sliding into half a smirk. “Or pleasure?”

“I suppose you could say business,” Giles replies mildly. He sweeps his gaze briefly between her nose and her chest. It doesn’t appear she’s drawing in air, but he’d have to stare too long to be certain. Maybe if he can keep her talking… “How long have you owned this establishment?”

“Not long,” Mary says, though if she is what he thinks she might be, that could mean fifty years. “But I like the quiet out here.”

“This town seems fairly peaceful, all things considered,” Giles comments. He gets a long enough glimpse to confirm that she isn’t breathing, and something in his expression must give it away because Mary’s hint of a smile evaporates, her mouth growing sharp again.

“You have no idea,” she says. That seems to be the end of that, as she pulls a piece of paper from beneath the counter. “How many rooms did you say you need? We have rooms with two double beds or one single queen.”

“Then three, please. One double and two queens.” Giles replies distractedly. He can share with Spike, but Buffy and Willow won’t want to share with Faith.

“Alright,” Mary says, nodding. “If you could please fill this out…” She slides the paper across the counter and Giles does as he’s told, filling out the required paperwork and producing his credit card when necessary. Mary is all business now; any glimmer of warmth disappeared with her smile. But Giles wants absolute certainly about his theory.

Just as Mary’s explaining where the ice machine is, Giles reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the keyless cross-shaped keychain that Dawn gave him a few years ago (“Since, y’know,” she’d said at the time, gesturing to herself, “Key?”). Giles watches Mary very closely as he sets the keychain down on the middle of the counter. She stiffens slightly. “I wonder if you might take a look at this,” he implores. “I found it outside. Perhaps another guest dropped it?”

“That doesn’t look familiar,” Mary says simply. Giles can tell that she’s ready for him to take his things and leave.

He doesn’t, instead leaning a bit closer across the counter. “Would you mind taking a closer look?”

Mary straightens her neck, arching her head to look at the keychain while angling her body away. “I can see from here.”

Giles nods, sliding his hand into his bag to make sure that his stake is where he left it. Mary could turn at any minute, could drop this act and decide it’s time to strike. “Consider it a gift from the universe,” she adds, her voice seeming lower, suddenly. Heading toward sinister.

“Well, I suppose so.” Giles shrugs as best he can, despite the hairs standing at attention on the back of his neck. He’s staked his share of vampires—certainly not as many as Buffy or Faith, or even Spike, but more than the average Watcher—yet his nerves in this moment never go away. Still, he wants to see how far she’ll go.

Giles lets the stake go with mild regret and picks up his room keys and his bags, making a show of how bulky they are. Once he’s made sure his hands are good and full, he asks almost as an afterthought, “Oh, would you mind handing me that, then?” He gestures with his bag toward the keychain. “Got a bit more than I can carry, it seems.”

Mary sets her jaw, and for a second Giles thinks she may refuse or strike, but instead she very slowly scoots the keychain forward with the tip of her fingernail until it’s nearly at Giles’s edge of the counter. “There you go,” Mary says simply, teeth nearly gritted. “Goodnight.”

Giles tries to conceal his heavy exhale as he hooks the keychain onto his forefinger. “Goodnight,” he replies, As he hustles out of the office, he tosses his gaze briefly over his shoulder to see Mary digging her nails into her palm.

Once back outside, Giles finds himself guided only by the flickering lights of the motel sign. He keeps expecting to hear Mary’s footsteps behind him, and he stops to confirm the stake’s location twice. But every time Giles look back, he’s alone.

Giles fumbles briefly with the keys but makes it inside without incident, locking the door behind him. He flicks on the lights and counts to sixty, waiting for an interruption that never comes. He checks the bathroom for some kind of booby trap, figuring that maybe Mary’s designed this place as her own personal hunting ground. But the motel appears entirely normal, if completely rundown.

It doesn’t add up. Mary is a vampire, clearly, and everything Giles knows about vampires suggests that she would attack at the first opportunity. Which she’s had already: more than once in the office and on the walk back. Giles was practically inviting a bite with that keychain maneuver. She’s holding back, and in Giles’s experience, the undead only hold back when something bigger is at play.

He settles himself down on the bed and pulls out his phone, typing out a quick text: _Buffy, we have a situation. Vampire here at the Lost Woods Resort, but I believe she’s got a plan of some sort._

A few minutes later, Buffy types back: _we actually have some interesting intel here too_

 _Meet back at the motel?_ he suggests with a furrowed brow, curious as to what they’ve found.

 _you’ve got it_ , Buffy replies.

After checking through the peephole twice to determine that Mary is not lurking outside, Giles decides to take the extra time to unpack the car, getting everyone’s bags settled in their respective rooms. He texts Buffy the room details and waits outside, and before long he can see a car pull up that appears to have the whole crew inside.

As they get out, Giles notices the driver: a pretty red-haired woman, right around Giles’s age. She doesn’t appear to be their captive, though she doesn’t look entirely happy to be in their company.

Buffy meets Giles’s gaze with warmth in her eyes, and it calms him immediately. “Hi Giles,” she greets in a measured tone. “This is Ashley. We met her on patrol.”

Giles raises an eyebrow at Buffy, trying to get a read on the situation, and in turn Buffy tilts her head toward the room. “Let’s go inside, shall we?” Giles suggests.

“A smashing idea,” Spike remarks with a smirk.

Everyone files into the room, clumping in an awkward half-circle near the doorway. Faith leans against the wall, glancing around the room. “Not exactly the Taj Mahal,” she comments, gesturing to the peeling wallpaper.

Willow shrugs. “Could be worse,” she says with a small smile, bumping Buffy’s shoulder and taking her hand. “I think it’s kinda cozy.”

Faith lets her head fall back against the wall and Spike rolls his eyes, just as Ashley clears her throat. “Right!” Buffy says, snapping back to attention. “Ashley here—”

“I can explain who I am myself, thank you,” Ashley directs to Buffy. She steps forward, reaching to shake Giles’s hand. He studies her face as their palms connect. There’s something about her that feels vaguely familiar, though not in the same way as Mary. “I’m Ashley Marin.”

“Marin!” Giles says with recognition. “You’re a relative of Regina Marin.” As the dots connect, he pulls his head back in surprise. “You’re a slayer?”

“And not exactly a spring chicken one either,” Faith comments, earning a glare from Buffy. “What? You said it too!”

“Yes,” Ashley says tightly. “I’m a Slayer.”

“Well, it’s good to meet you!” Giles says warmly, relieved to know who she is. “Regina is an odd one, certainly, but she’s got a tenacious spirit. She’s been a very spirited member of the Watcher’s Council.”

“You haven’t been her daughter-in-law,” Ashley says with a small smile. “Puts the term ‘Watcher’ in a whole new light.”

“But how are you—I mean, the Calling of All Slayers occurred long after you would have been called, I presume?” Giles asks. “So how did you come to be a Slayer, and no one knew about you?”

“We’ve been wondering that too,” Buffy states. “But what with the whole slaying vamps thing, we didn’t exactly have time to cover our backstories.”

Ashley breathes in deeply. “When I was twenty-one, I was beaten up pretty badly in a fight. Largest vampire I’ve ever encountered. I was technically dead for just under a minute. That was all the time it took for another Slayer to be called.”

Buffy nods. “That sounds familiar.”

“When I came to, the other Slayer had already been called, but I was alive as well,” Ashley continues. “So I sort of went into retirement. But this town still needed help, badly. I’ve done what I can, and eventually another Slayer popped up here, so I was able to pull back a bit.” She pauses, her expression softening. “My daughter is everything to me. She needed me to be here.”

Buffy smiles sadly. “You didn’t want to leave her behind.”

“No,” Ashley says.

“Do you know the woman who runs this resort? Mary?” asks Giles.

Ashley stiffens, her eyes growing serious. “I do. Why?”

“Well, I’m certain she’s a vampire,” Giles says.

Ashley blinks slowly, and Giles is sure that if he knew her better, there’d be a lot to read into that expression. “Alright,” she says finally. “My daughter and her friends could use your help. They’re mixed up in something, and they need protection.”

“Protection from what?” Spike asks. “Not just bloody vampires?”

“No,” Ashley says. “There’s something else going on here.”

“What is it?” Willow asks.

“I don’t know exactly,” Ashley says with concern. “But whatever it is, it’s getting worse.” She sweeps her gaze to each member of the group, finally landing on Buffy. “I think it might be the worst this town has ever known.”


	5. From Beneath You, It Devours

_It’s too late for a broad with legs like that to be out and about. Something bad is bound to happen._

_She’s wearing a trench coat and a little hat on her head, but that’s all that’s visible besides those legs. She’s walking away, her heels clacking loudly against the wet cobblestone street._

_Everything is black and white and bathed in shadows. Time seems to move too fast or too slow, but never at the right speed. The girl—she’s getting too far ahead, she’s going to get into trouble. Girls like that always end up in trouble._

_There’s a man, suddenly, stepping from behind her. Was he hiding in her shadow? He’s got a hat on too. A fedora. He looks like a real bruiser._

_“Darlin’,” he calls out. “Don’t you want to talk to me?”_

_His voice is hollow, toneless, and his face isn’t clear either. It’s a mask of another face, but whose? Is it Detective Darren Wilden? Is it Archer Dunhill? Is it a stranger, a loner from another town with his own collection of dames to terrify?_

_He reaches out to grab the girl. His hands are right there, so close to her, at the sleeve of her coat. She cries out at first. Her voice is familiar. It’s a voice that would sound pretty crooning a love song. A voice with a little bit of pain in it._

_But this girl’s no fool. She’s got something in her hand, a glowing thing. When she holds it out the man jumps back. The thing is round and bright. Just like the glittering ring on her left hand._

_The man is gone, forced to disappear by the power of the glowing thing. A voice, familiar, speaks into the darkness. She isn’t there, but the voice, unmistakably, belongs to Spencer Hastings._

_“Down these mean streets, a girl must go…”_

_The girl steps forward, her legs a little shaky._

_“…who is not she herself—”_

_Spencer Hastings can’t say another word, because the sidewalk suddenly opens beneath the girl._

_She tries to grab at the ground, tries to throw the glowing thing—to get some power from it. That’s no use. The sidewalk starts to swallow her whole. Cobblestones are busting up off the ground, whirling into the air. Below is nothing, only black. There’s a scream, a flash of dark hair. The ring flies from her hand into the sky._

_The sidewalk yawns its mouth shut, snapping back into place. The cobblestones seem to smooth themselves back together. The ring, which lands on the ground with a deafening clatter, looks an awful lot like the one belonging to Aria Montgomery._

Hanna Marin wakes with a start. She puts her hand to her heaving chest, finding her skin sticky with sweat. Jesus. What a dream. That’s the last time she falls asleep after Aria suggests she watches an old movie. Though it felt almost like something else…

She shakes her head, reaching to her beside table for her water glass. Her brain is still swimming as she takes a long sip, but before she has time to ponder more her phone buzzes.

The sound sends an instant knife of fear through her body. It’s probably nothing, Hanna logically thinks, but the knot in her belly says otherwise. With hands that refuse to not shake, Hanna looks at the message.

It’s a slightly far away picture of her from mere seconds ago, with her just-awake eyes and her hand at her heart. But there are words beneath it:

_Can’t sleep? Don’t worry: you’ll have plenty of time to do that when you’re dead. Right now, I want you alive, awake, and afraid. -A.D._


	6. Crash Course

“You okay?” Emily asks, setting Hanna’s latte down on the coffee table in front of her. “Because you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Hanna glances up at her, eyes cold. “Don’t say that,” she instructs sharply. She reaches forward and grabs her paper cup, tacking on, “Thanks.”

Emily quirks an eyebrow. Hanna’s seemed off this entire morning, just weirdly vacant, but Emily can’t quite get a read on what’s going on. Well, that’s not entirely true. She knows what’s going on—a whole lot of scariness that could end with Hanna in jail, plus this whole Caleb and Spencer situation—but she’s not sure what piece of the puzzle is bothering Hanna today. Maybe all of it, mashed together. Emily can’t remember the last time her brain wasn’t whirling with horrifying theoreticals.

“I’m fine,” Hanna says unconvincingly. “Just…there’s a lot on my mind.”

Emily nods. She knows the feeling. “Tell me about it. You know you can talk to me, if you want to.”

Hanna offers her a small smile, leans in a little closer to Emily on the couch. “I know, Em.” She breathes in and out a few times, eyes closed, and when she opens them again her expression looks more determined. “I want to know what the deal is with my mom.”

“Not buying the nature club story?”

Hanna shakes her head. “No way. There was something totally weird about those people she was with, right?”

Emily takes a sip of her Americano, considering. “I don’t think we spent enough time around them to make much of a judgment,” she says. “But your mom seemed kind of—”

“Nuts?”

“I was going to go with anxious.” She’s planning to say more but the door to the Brew swings open and in stroll Spencer and Alison. Emily catches their eye and they walk over. “Where’s Aria?” Emily asks.

“Outside on the phone,” Spencer replies, sitting down on the couch across from them. “Wedding stuff.”

“Already? Isn’t that, like, crazy fast?” Hanna asks.

Alison shrugs. “I got married really fast.”

“And look how that turned out,” Spencer says, before flashing a quick look of apology.

Alison rolls her eyes but waves her hand in an _It’s fine_ gesture. Emily can’t help but notice the bruises on her neck. The sight makes her feel nauseous. The ones on Alison’s wrists aren’t even fully healed yet.

“I’m with Hanna,” Spencer continues. “This wedding seems awfully rushed.”

“As long as Aria’s happy, that’s what matters, right?” Emily says, glancing around the group. She gets a few begrudging nods in return.

“I’ll go get us coffee,” Alison tells Spencer. 

“Thanks.” Spencer presses some cash into Alison’s palm before she can protest. “Your dirtbag husband left you broke. Don’t argue with me,” she says sternly.

Alison hesitates for a moment before accepting the money. She makes brief eye contact with Emily, who hops up as well.

“I’ll help you.” The two of them make their way over to the counter. The Brew is busy this morning, Emily notes as they get in line. “How are you doing, really?” she asks with concern.

Alison smiles lopsidedly. “Better, now that I’m here with you.” She moves to pull some hair behind her ear, brushing Emily’s hand with her own in the process.

Emily’s belly feels warm, the knot starting to loosen. “I should have stayed with you last night,” she says softly.

“It’s probably better that you didn’t,” Alison tells her. “Less, y’know…”

Emily does know. Someone’s always watching, especially in the DiLaurentis house. “Yeah,” she agrees. “You’re probably right.” She glances up at the door again, catching sight of Ashley Marin walking in with one of the people from last night, the blonde woman. 

Hanna must see them too, because she hops up and makes a beeline for her mom. Alison furrows her brow. “Who’s that?” she asks, following Emily’s line of sight. The three women head outside. “And why does Hanna look so fired up?”

Emily sighs. “Remember last night, when we thought we heard a noise in the woods?” Alison nods. “So when Hanna and I went to check, Mrs. Marin was acting really weird, and she was with this group of people. That girl was one of them.”

“Hasn’t she told us to call her Ashley now?” Alison asks a bit teasingly.

Emily shakes her head. “I can’t do that.”

Alison smirks, bumping Emily’s shoulder as they step forward in line. “You’re really cute.”

 _And you’re going to get me in trouble if you keep looking at me like that_ , Emily thinks but doesn’t verbalize. Instead, she bites her lip and scoots to the side so Alison can place her and Spencer’s coffee orders. She pays and they head back to their couch, walking a little closer than necessary.

Emily’s good mood starts to drain as she looks outside. Hanna appears to be in full-on interrogation mode, her finger pointed accusingly in the direction of Mrs. Marin—er, Ashley and the blonde woman. “I’ll be right back,” Emily says regretfully, hustling outside to hopefully inject some calmness into the situation. She pulls her sweater tighter around her; it’s a gray, chilly morning. A few feet away from the Marin women, Emily notices Aria finishing up a phone call.

“Nature group?” Hanna is saying indignantly as Emily walks up. “Do you not remember what happened the last time you went trekking through nature in your heels? A murder charge, that’s what!”

“Hey guys!” Aria says, putting her phone back in her purse as she walks over to them. “What’s up?” Her cheery demeanor shifts as Emily shoots her a _This is awkward_ look.

“Okay, honey, so you saw through that one,” Ashley replies, tone a bit frayed. “The truth is—”

“Watch out!” someone suddenly screams. 

Emily looks up to see a huge black van careening toward them on the sidewalk. It’s got darkly tinted windows, so Emily can’t see inside, but mostly she’s focused on getting out of the way. Emily grabs Aria’s hand and tries to jump away, but the van keeps heading toward them.

“Run!” Emily yells to no one in particular, possibly herself, as she drags Aria across the street, Hanna following right behind. The van swerves to pursue them, gaining speed.

Distantly Emily hears someone call her name, and when she looks back Spencer and Alison are running out from the Brew.

“Stop!” Emily calls as the driver of the van clearly catches sight of them, changing course to veer in their direction. Spencer and Alison lurch out of the way, behind a sidewalk planter, and for a moment the van is still. 

People on the street are yelping and running away, but Emily knows those people have nothing to fear in the long run; the van, unmistakably, is after Emily and her friends. She, Hanna and Aria are crouched down near another large car, and the driver of the van must decide to throw caution to the wind because he or she heads right toward them. Emily waits to move until the last possible second, and just as she does the van crashes into the other car.

Almost instantly, the windshield shatters and the van is engulfed in flames. Emily scrambles backwards on the sidewalk. Hanna and Aria are right beside her, thank god. The door swings open and the driver stumbles out, his clothes aflame. 

It takes just the blink of an eye for Emily to see that it’s Elliott Rollins. Or Archer Dunhill. That’s all the time she has, because within seconds his body crumbles in the fire, bones dissolving into dust. 

“Holy shit,” Hanna whispers. “Did you guys just see that?” 

Emily can only nod. She slowly stands up, putting a hand out each to Hanna and Aria. As they get to their feet, Emily looks frantically through the flames for Alison, but she’s nowhere to be found. Spencer is there, though, still near the Brew entryway, and she rushes toward them. The fire, thankfully, seems to be contained to the van. Already Emily can distantly register the sound of sirens.

“Where’s Ali?” she asks with concern.

Spencer shakes her head, eyes alight with fear. “I don’t know. She just…suddenly wasn’t there.” She takes Emily’s shaking hand in her own.

“Hanna!” a voice calls out. Ashley Marin. She’s plastered along the side of the building next to the blonde woman, but when she sees them they both come running.

“Are you okay?” Ashley asks, cupping Hanna’s face. Hanna doesn’t answer, just lets herself be pulled tight against her mom.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god” Aria mutters, leaning into Emily’s side. “I mean, he just— _poof_.”

Emily shakes her head, not sure what to say. The blonde woman is right there beside Ashley, and with a surprising tranquility she says to them, “Everything’s going to be alright.”

“This is Buffy,” Ashley softly states, her eyes flicking between them all.

Spencer squints at the woman. “Who _are_ you?” she asks insistently.

Buffy squares her shoulders, putting her hands on her hips. She looks almost like a superhero in this stance. 

“I’m the person who’s here to help you.”


	7. What the Hellmouth

Spencer is being unceremoniously hustled across the street by Ashley Marin.  Hanna’s mom has an iron grip on her elbow that she hasn’t felt since they were eleven years old and the Marins were fighting so much that Spencer convinced Hanna they should run away and live in a boxcar together.  

The cops have arrived on the scene, it’s all flashing lights and belt snapping authority.  

“No driver in the car,” she hears one of them saying.  “Parking brake must have given out.”

“But, it swerved!  It stopped and it sped up and it swerved towards the sidewalk -” a bystander protests.

Spencer tries to look around for Toby, but Ashley is leading them all back to The Brew.  All of them minus Alison, who seems to have vanished.  Suspicion kicks in like muscle memory, an old reflex.  Where is she?  Even Ashley’s motley crew of new friends are all accounted for, bringing up the rear while exchanging significant glances with one another.    

The moment they’re all back inside the coffee shop, Spencer whirls around to confront Buffy, who seems to be their leader.

“Will someone please tell me what the _hell_ is going on here?”

She gets an intense look instead of an answer.  Buffy - what kind of name is that anyway? - nods at a muscular brunette in a leather jacket, which seems to be the signal for her friend to put two fingers in her mouth and wolf whistle.

“Yo,” she says loudly, addressing everyone in the shop.  “Everybody out!”  She punctuates this point by moving to the nearest table and picking up the woman’s coffee and danish.  “It’s a To Go order now, alright?  Emphasis on the GO.”

Everyone remains frozen in place, starting at each other uncertainly.  Then a familiar voice pipes up from the back of the room.  “You heard the lady!” Mona Vanderwaal admonishes.  “That fire outside means all the hydrants on the street are completely out of commission!  We’re talking basic fire code violation here, people!  Subsection 7A!  Let’s go, everyone!  Take your things and move calmly towards the exit, please!”

The barista is looking bewildered as everyone starts getting up and filing towards the exit.  The girl who whistled is looking at Mona like she’s never seen anything quite like her before.  If the situation weren’t so completely strange, Spencer would almost laugh.  

“You, too,” Mona instructs the barista.  “We’ll hold down the fort.”  She nods toward Aria, the art deco diamond glittering on her left hand.  “She’ll work it out with Ezra.”

Once the last person is out the door, Mona unplugs the neon sign in the window and flips the one on the door to CLOSED.  Then she flounces over to the pastry case.  “Pie, anyone?  Apple turnover?”

“This is no time for pie!” Spencer snaps, even as Hanna raises her hand for a turnover.  “We just saw Alison’s husband turn into a pile of dust!”

“That’s not possible,” Mona says, smoothly, giving Spencer a pointed look.  Which, it’s not possible.  He was already dead.  Not breathing.  Buried in the ground.  By the five of them.  But still.

“It was a prank!” Buffy says.  “A trick of the light, and some inflatable balloon masks.”

Spencer looks at Emily, just as Alison slides into the seat next to her. The bruises on her neck are dark purple.  She clutches Emily’s arm, and her face gives no sign of whether or not she’s buying this ridiculous story.

“What kind of balloons get out of the car and amble towards you?”

“Helium balloons,” an older British gentleman suggests.  “Very realistic.”

“No offense,” Hanna says.  “But who _are_  you people, exactly?”

“You’re right, we haven’t been properly introduced,” a somewhat nervous looking red head replies.  She has a hand resting lightly on the small of Buffy’s back.  “I’m Willow.  This is Buffy.  That’s Faith.” She motions towards the leather clad brunette, who is eating a slice of peach pie without a plate.  “This is Giles,” she points towards the distinguished looking older British guy, “and Spike,” who appears to have wandered out of a late eighties music video. “We’re here to help you.”

“We run an anti-bullying initiative,” Buffy explains.  

Spencer quirks a skeptical eyebrow.  She doesn’t like the feeling of being stuck in a bad improv scene, with no idea of what the joke will turn out to be.

“That’s right,” Ashley chimes in.  “I hired them to do a presentation to the employees at the Radley.  And they were so good, I thought - maybe they could help you girls.”

“No,” Spencer says immediately.  The first rule of ‘A’.  Telling other people only puts them in danger.  “I’m sorry to waste your time, but we don’t need your help.”

“Spence,” Alison interjects, “maybe we should-”

“You heard what she said,” Hanna nods, crossing her arms.  “Nothing’s going on, Mom.”

“Uh-huh,” Spike says, dubiously.  “So you birds normally clock an attempted murder before your first cup of coffee then?”

“It’s...a dangerous world,” Aria tells him.

“Hanna,” Ashley says, a note of warning in her voice.  “I know you’re an adult, but I am still your mother.  And I may have missed the signs when you were in high school.  I may have let you stonewall me and shut me out, because I was busy with my own life.  But if you think for one second that I’m willing to stand by and let history repeat itself - that is _not_ going to happen.  Do you understand?”  

Hanna’s mouth is a tight line, but her eyes are shifting between Spencer and her mother.  Aria is looking at Alison and Emily as everyone maintains a resolute silence.

Ashley sighs and pulls out her phone.  “Alright, then.”  She sends a text, and opens the back door of the Brew.  Spencer rubs a hand against her temple, feeling a major headache coming on, as her mother strides purposefully into the room, followed by Pam Fields and Ella Montgomery.

Ella takes one look at their faces and the corner of her mouth turns down.  “Something tells me this _isn’t_ a surprise wedding planning session.”  She sets an enormous planner guide down on the counter with a loud thunk.  The saucer beneath the scone Giles is eating trembles.

“Will someone please explain what the hell is going on here?” her mother demands.

“It’s happening again,” Ashley says.  “The girls refuse to admit it, but I believe they’re being targeted.  Just like before.”

“Is this true?” her mother asks.

Spencer refuses to meet her eyes.

“Emily, honey - if someone is after you, we can’t protect you if you won’t tell us what’s going on,” Pam pleads.

“No one can protect us,” Spencer says, hollowly.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Buffy insists.  “We can.  We have experience fighting evil.  Bullies.  Evil bullies.”

“Lots of experience,” Willow adds.  “It always seems like the end of the world, but it never is.”

“You’re right,” Alison admits, breaking the deadlock.  “It is happening again.”

Hanna and Aria look as aghast as Spencer feels.  Leave it to Ali to throw all their secrets out in the open the moment it suits her.

“It started after Charlotte,” she continues.  “Someone wants to find out what happened to her.  And there may be another person who wants to stop us from learning the truth.”

“They know things,” Emily chimes in, following Alison’s lead.  As always.  “Like they’ve been tracking us again.  Watching us.”

“We’re talking blackmail, yeah?” Spike asks.  “Secrets and lies and videotape?”

“The details of which are not important,” Mona tells him, in her campaign aide mode.  

Faith grins.  “Fair enough.  Were you trying to go all lone wolf on this?”

“You can’t be a lone wolf when there are five wolfs,” Hanna says.

“Wolves,” Spencer says, automatically.  “But yes.”

“Okay,” Buffy says.  “Is there a list of suspects we can work through, or should we start with the phone book?”

“Mary Drake,” Spencer suggests.

“Jenna Marshall,” Emily offers.

“Sara Harvey,” Aria adds.

“You ladies don’t play around,” Spike says, sounding almost impressed.  

“We’ll need descriptions, motives, history,” Willow says, pulling out a notebook.

“The hard part is over,” Ashley assures them.  “It’s going to get better from here.”

“She’s right,” Buffy promises.  “All you have to do is tell the truth.”


	8. The Facts Were These

“I still can’t believe you talked us into this,” the lanky brunette, Spencer, is murmuring to one of the blonde girls. Alison. 

“I hardly talked you into anything,” Alison says dismissively. “All I gave was a little push. Sometimes you need a push, Spence.”

“We don’t even know these people!” Spencer replies.

“Um, guys?” Willow says, tapping her notebook a few times. “We’re right here, can hear everything you’re saying. And, uh, we want to help? So why don’t we start at the beginning?” 

She slides her gaze over to Buffy when she’s met with two blank stares. 

“How did this start?” Buffy tries. 

The girls look nervously back and forth. Willow sighs, craning her neck to check in on Giles, who’s currently talking to the other tall brunette across the coffee shop. He’s cleaning his glasses vigorously, so clearly he’s experiencing similar roadblocks. Faith is chatting with the short girl who took charge—Mina? Mona?—but it looks more like she’s telling jokes than asking questions.

“Look,” Willow says gently. “We’ve encountered our fair share of things that go bump in the night—”

“She means bullies,” Buffy cuts in. “Bumpy bullies.”

“Right,” Willow says, reflexively sliding her hand onto Buffy’s knee. “We know all about the bumpy bullies.”

Alison clears her throat, glancing down at Willow’s hand. “Okay,” she finally says. “The beginning. Well—” She looks to Spencer. “The Jenna Thing?”

Spencer’s eyes bugs out. “Seriously?” she says to Alison, who raises her shoulders in reply. 

“What’s the Jenna Thing?” Buffy asks. Willow readies her pencil.

Spencer takes a big breath. “When we were pretty young—like, fourteen—we were involved in an incident that left a girl…blind.”

“You _blinded_ a girl!?” Buffy states in shock. “That’s—that’s—”

“That’s the first of many events we have to tell you about,” Alison supplies coolly. “And we’re going to have to keep going, if you don’t want to be here all day.”

Buffy shoots Willow a quick _Can you believe this?!_ look before nodding. “Okay, go on.”

“So after that,” Alison continues. “I realized someone had been videotaping us. All of us. For this club.”

“Who was in the club?” Willow asks.

“A couple of cops. Her sister’s future husband,” Alison replies, pointing to Spencer. “Possibly her sister. Oh, and our brother. But he’s really turned himself around.”

“You guys are sisters?” Buffy asks.

Spencer shakes her head. “No, but we share a brother.”

Willow blinks a few times, trying to get back on track. “This club isn’t still operational, is it?”

“No,” Alison replies. “Half of the members are dead anyway. Spencer’s brother-in-law, Ian—well, we thought he died in the bell tower, but then it turned out he still alive, but _then_ he killed himself later.”

Interesting. “How did the other club members die?” Willow asks.

“Garrett was shot,” Alison replies casually, as though remembering an item off her grocery list.

“He was one of the cops,” Spencer explains. “Aria was kidnapped and locked in a coffin one Halloween, and when she woke up his dead body was right there with her.”

Buffy snatches the pencil from Willow and writes down: _Welcome to the vamp-club first meal?_ She quirks an eyebrow at Willow, who nods in response. 

“So anyway,” Alison continues. “I was getting these messages from someone who called themselves A. I tried to put a stop to it, and I really thought I had, but then…”

She glances down mournfully, so Spencer picks up the thread. “Alison was hit over the back of the head one night, and ended up in a shallow grave.”

Buffy’s eyes grow wide. “Did you have to crawl out?” she asks softly. Willow interlocks her fingers with Buffy’s, remembers when the knuckles were bloody and trembling. Remembers how it felt to see Buffy again, after that terrifying, reckless spell. The memory makes her belly go all flip-floppy.

But Buffy is here, and she’s solid. _They’re_ solid, together. And when Alison nods very slowly, Buffy can offer her a small smile. Because she’s been there, down in the depths. But she survived, and got out okay. And so, it seems, did Alison.

“How did you end up in there?” Willow asks.

“My—my sister,” Alison replies shakily. “Or, she’s actually my cousin. I thought she was my sister for a long time. And our—er, _my_ mother helped cover it up.”

“Spike’s probably having a great time,” Buffy murmurs. “You guys are better than the families on _Passions_.” She motions for them to continue.

“Alison found out she had a long-lost sister about five years ago,” Spencer explains. “She was the person who had been targeting us.”

“She wasn’t the first one though,” Alison chimes in. “First, there was Mona.”

“The girl over there?” Buffy asks, glancing over to where Mona is fetching another slice of pie for Faith.

“The very one,” Spencer says. “She had some real issues back there. What did they call it?” She considers for a moment before snapping her fingers. “Adrenalized hyperreality. It was like she was everywhere and nowhere, always knew our next move.” 

Willow narrows her eyes, writes down the word _Spell?_

“Charlotte was that way too,” Alison murmurs.

“Charlotte?” Willow prompts.

“The person I thought was my sister.”

“But it turned out that Alison’s mother had a twin sister we’d never known about,” Spencer states. “Alison’s ‘sister’ turned out to be the daughter of Alison’s aunt.”

“How’d your mom explain the secret twin?” Buffy asks.

Alison sighs. “She didn’t. She was killed a number of years ago. I just met my aunt Mary recently.”

Willow’s been scribbling away, but she sets her notebook down at that comment. “Let me get this straight,” she says. “Your mother died, and then years later her twin sister showed up in town?” The girls nod. “She wouldn’t happen to be an identical twin, would she?”

“She is,” Spencer confirms. “But, like, weird and evil-looking. She’s got dark hair, wears all black.” Spencer bites her lip. “This is going to sound completely crazy, but she kind of looks like a vampire.”

Willow barks out a laugh, too loud, but when Buffy shoots her a look she says, “Yeah, totally crazy.”

“This wouldn’t happen to be the Mary who runs the Lost Woods Resort, would it?” Buffy asks in a measured tone.

“Yeah,” Alison replies. “How’d you know?”

“It’s where we’re staying,” Willow replies as smoothly as she can. “Small town, not a lot of people match that description.”

Spencer nods. “Well, she’s one of the people who we think might be after us. See, Charlotte was murdered. And Mary might think we did it.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Alison chimes in.

“She stole your money, Ali!” Spencer says insistently. 

“She stole your money?” Buffy prompts.

“My ex-husband stole my money,” Alison amends, shooting Spencer an annoyed look.

“The one with the, uh, prank outside?” Willow tosses out.

Alison nods. “He—he ran off,” she says haltingly. “We thought maybe something might have happened to him.” Spencer noticeably tenses at that. “But he was recently seen in Boston.”

“We think he’s still on the run,” Spencer adds quickly. “Total con man.” 

 _And total vampire_ , Willow thinks. _Totally_ dead _vampire._

“But he might be involved with Jenna,” Alison says.

“The girl you blinded,” Buffy confirms.

Alison actually appears to roll her eyes. “Yes. She’s got a little henchman too. Or henchwoman. Sara Harvey.”

“Who also worked with Charlotte,” Spencer adds. “But we’re not sure the extent.”

Willow nods, her head spinning. She glances down at her notes. Murders, secret siblings, a blinding. It’s quite the jumble, but two things are clear: something very Hellnaval-y is happening here, and these girls have lived a life high in the weird.

She takes another pass over her notes. “So. Mary Drake. Jenna Marshall. Sara Harvey. These are our prime suspects.” She stands up. “I think I’m going to need some coffee.”

“I can get it,” Spencer offers. When Willow glances at the lack of a barista, Spencer shrugs. “They’ll put it on my tab. Anyone else?” Buffy and Alison shake their heads.

“Thanks,” Willow says as Spencer walks away. 

Alison turns to look at them, pensive. 

“I’m glad I have a minute alone with you two,” she says seriously. “There’s something important we need to discuss. But no matter what, my friends can’t know about it.”


	9. Toil and Trouble

Spike sits with his boots on the table, listening and observing the rise and fall of women’s voices around him.  Rupert is the only other bloke in the place, and he’s chatting up one of the mum’s about the Wedding Inspirations album she brought.

“Oh yes,” Giles says, cleaning his glasses with the sleeve of his tweed jacket.  “Something like Lady Mary’s wedding hat, perhaps?”

“Exactly,” she responds.  “Style and class.”

Spike rolls his eyes just as Buffy slides into the seat next to him.  He sits up a bit straighter.

“I know that face,” he says.  “You’ve got marching orders for me.”

“We’ve got a video voyeurism vamp club, an enemy who was actually blinded by these girls, and a suspect list that includes most of the town,” Buffy tells him.

“Dunno about that,” Spike says.  “Seems like some of us are getting on quite well with the locals.”  He nods to Giles, now pouring a glass of wine for his new friend, then at Faith, who’s showing off her knife throwing skills for the shiny haired one.

Buffy refuses to look.  Intent on the mission, as always.  “I need you to scout out the seedy underbelly.  See what’s going on below ground around here.  Keep your eyes and ears open.”  

“I know the drill,” he promises.  

\----

Three hours later, he’s sitting in the Catacombs Demon Bar.  Located, as one might expect, in some catacombs underneath the outskirts of town.  He sniffs.  American catacombs.  Newly built.  Not even thirty years old, by the scent of the sawdust.  

But, this is the place to be.  So said the vamp he bummed a smoke from in the cemetery.  He sips a Guinness, with an O-positive chaser.  He’s keeping an eye on the door to the back room, where it sounds like a group of M’layk demons might be running a chimera fighting ring.  

A scrawny human kid keeps eyeing him, looking like he might be about to offer himself up as a snack.  Otherwise, his ear is finding the ground pretty dull, though the onion rings are decent enough.

Just as he’s about to order another round, the door to the back room opens and a young woman with dark glasses and a white cane emerges.

He throws a few bills on the counter and follows her out.

Spike keeps his footsteps silent, walking in time with her own just in case.  She’s walking through the catacombs at speed, tapping the cane in front of her, but moving with a swiftness and certainty that seems to indicate she’s treading on familiar terrain down here.  Strange place for a human to go, really.  He’s about four paces behind her when she spins around and thrusts her cane out so suddenly that it thumps him squarely in the chest.

“Who’s there?” she asks.  “Who are you?”

“Just out for a stroll,” he replies.  “In the nice dank air.”

“Why are you following me?” she says, sounding like she might really be scared.  Although, he can hear her heartbeat, steady and unphased.

“Dunno.  Saw you leaving the bar.  Thought you looked like a lady who might be heading someplace more interesting.”

She moves closer to him, and he fights the urge to take a step back.

The catacombs are lit by dozens of guttering candles, and as she leans towards him, he can see a series of tattoos peeking out from her shirt sleeve.  Magical symbols wrapping their way around her forearm.

“So you’re a witch,” he observes.

“I’m Jenna,” she says, extending both hands, and clasping a palm around his wrist.  She frowns.  “He talks like a man, but he is not one.  Interesting.”  

She smacks him with her cane, jabbing it in his ear.  Pain shoots through his head as he growls and vamps out instinctively.

It must be what she wanted, as she runs her hand over his ridged forehead, pulls his lip back like he’s a show pony and touches his fangs.  

“Are we done with the show and tell?” he asks, rubbing the side of his head.

“Not quite.  Why is a vampire tailing me?”

“I told you, I wanted a bit of fun.  Looked like you might know where to find it.”

“You’re lying.”

“You just met me.”

“This is Rosewood.  Everyone’s a liar.”

“Be that as it may, I am a vampire.  Show a bit of respect, eh?”

“If you were going to bite, you’d have done it already.”

He snorts.  Smart, this one.  

She turns and starts walking again.  “Come along if you want.  I’m going to see an old friend.”

\-----

About a mile down the corridor, Jenna turns left into a squalid looking alcove with a hidden door.  As they go in, two strung out looking monks stagger past them, their pupils black.

Inside, it looks like a posh opium den.  Cushions scattered across the floor.  Velvet drapes.  Mystical objects used for siphoning and storing energy line the walls.  

A dark haired muscular young man appears, shirtless and smirking.  He has an aura of wealth and power, the inborn kind, kind of guy who looks like he’s been sculpted out of hundred dollar bills.

“I’ve brought you a new friend,” Jenna says, by way of introduction.

“You’re not here for a hit of mojo,” the studly one says to him, suspiciously.  “You’ve got so much magic crackling around your -” he breaks off and looks sharply at Jenna.  “He has a soul?”

“Standing right here,” Spike says, in an offended tone.  

“What are you playing at?” her friend hisses at Jenna, who shrugs with supreme unconcern.

“Sara left town,” she replies.  “I figured if he was following me, maybe it would keep _them_ away.”

“Them?” Spike perks up.  “I got no problem being the muscle, but who exactly are you expecting to come after you?”

Jenna ignores him.  She pulls an orb out of her pocket and hands it to the shirtless wonder, who nods.

“Nothing left but the final ingredient,” he muses.  “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been planning this for five and a half years.”

“Then I’ll make sure everything’s charged up and ready.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“But first,” he says, rolling up Jenna’s sleeve.  His chiseled abs clench as he clasps her upper arm and her tattoos glow green as he draws power out of her.  The transfer shimmers in the air between them, tendrils of energy so strong they manifest in long smoky lines.

“Baby, you’re a firework,” the Shirtless Wonder declares, throwing his head back and laughing like he’s drunk.  Then he releases her and drops back on the cushions, exhausted.  “Come back anytime,” he says.  “You too, lap dog.”

Spike growls in his direction.  The little wanker snaps his jaw open and shut in response, as if he’s biting the air.

Jenna makes her way out of the room and starts tapping towards a staircase up and out of the maze of underground passages.

Spike follows her.  “I could help, you know.  If something nasty is after you.”

“You served your purpose,” she says, dismissively.  “I can take care of myself.”

“Right, then.”

He watches her ascend the stairs, fiddling with the latch of the grate that leads up to the street.  

A tattoo in the shape of an eye is still glowing, luminous, on the back of her shoulder.  

Guess they don’t blind people like they used to.

Well, imagine that.  Witch can see.


	10. Revelations

Buffy and her crew asked them to get everyone together, and they sure as hell delivered.

Not since Hanna’s bachelorette party have there been so many people packed into Lucas’s loft. Hanna’s on the couch with the rest of her friends, of course. Ezra’s tucked next to Aria, holding her hand. Caleb’s there—Hanna called him, because it seemed like the thing to do—and Toby’s there too, leaning up behind the couch. Mona showed up for some reason and Hanna didn’t have the heart to tell her to leave. And then there’s Buffy’s group, which Hanna thinks she heard someone refer to as the Scooby Gang. Probably the blonde British guy. He’s always quipping about something.

The Scooby Gang is standing in front of them all, looking poised to say something important. Clearly the floor is Buffy’s. She seems to be fabulously in charge of herself in a way Hanna totally envies. 

“So,” Buffy starts off. “This is all of you.”

“The extended gang, you could say,” Spencer offers.

“And what exactly are the relationship dynamics here?” Faith asks with a smirk, clearly picking up on Caleb’s tense body language and Spencer’s shiftiness.

Hanna scowls. “Y’know, I was going to ask you guys the same thing.”

Faith raises both eyebrows, turning on her heel to look at Buffy. Hanna’s noticed that she spends a lot of time doing that. “Alright, B, let’s get this show on the road,” Faith directs to Buffy.

Buffy nods, takes a deep breath, reaches for Willow’s hand. Hanna knows that she’s only a few years younger than all of these people, minus the British guy with glasses, but they somehow seem much older. Like they can handle more. And having them literally towering above her doesn’t help with that feeling.

“You guys may have guessed that we don’t actually run an anti-bullying initiative,” Buffy states. Spike snorts, so clearly that charade is up.

“You don’t say,” Mona says lowly, not a trace of surprise in her voice.

“But it wasn’t entirely a lie,” Buffy continues. “We do fight evil.”

She looks to Willow, who picks up the thread. “Just…actual, literal evil. Not you-stole-my-lunch-money evil.”

Hanna looks at them blankly. “What?”

Giles steps forward. “Demons exist in this world, and we seek to make them, erm, not exist.”

“What? You guys kill…demons?” Aria asks.

“Yes,” Buffy confirms. “But we all play a different role. Faith and I slay vampires, Willow is a very powerful witch, Spike is a reformed vampire who fights for our side now, and Giles helps with training and research.”

Hanna blinks a few times. This has to be some kind of practical joke, one that she’s just finding horribly unfunny. 

Spencer stands up, though it’s clear she isn’t really sure why. “What are you talking about?” she says indignantly. “Vampires? Vampires! I mean—”

“C’mere, love,” Spike tells her, stepping forward and gesturing toward his neck. “Take a feel.”

“Spencer,” Emily says warningly from behind her, but Spencer hesitates just briefly before reaching two fingers up to touch his pulse point.

She yanks her hand away and whips around after only a second. “He has no pulse,” she reports to the group. Spencer turns back to Spike. “You’re playing a trick on us. Jenna, Mary, one of them put you up to this—”

“Don’t even get me started on that Jenna chick,” Spike says with an eye roll.

Hanna wrinkles her brow. “What does that mean?”

Spike makes an annoyed sound from the back of his throat. “And you people call her the blind one! She’s a witch! And not a good one like Glinda over here.” He gestures toward Willow, who shrugs.

“And Mary Drake is a vampire,” Giles explains. He looks directly at Alison. “We believe she actually is your mother, but that she decided to create a false identity after she was turned.”

Hanna turns to look at Alison, who has an unreadable expression on her face. Emily is staring at her with concern, of course, and one of her hands appears to be trailing along Ali’s back.

“Alison’s husband,” Hanna says softly. “That wasn’t a trick of balloons, was it?”

“No,” Buffy replies. “Vampires turn to dust when they’re lit on fire or staked.”

“Or decapitated,” Spike adds. “And don’t you get any ideas, because I’m not planning on biting any one of you.”

Hanna makes brief eye contact with Spencer. The body in the ground—they’d been so sure that was him. Yet part of Hanna knew it was too good to be true. But now he’s gone. Really most sincerely dead, as Spencer would say.

“So you guys, what, just signed up to be vampire slayers because it’s such good pay?” Spencer asks Buffy and Faith, sliding her gaze away from Hanna’s.

Buffy shakes her head. “No. It doesn’t work like that. It used to be that there was one girl in each generation who was called to be the Slayer.”

“Like, called on the phone?” Hanna asks.

“A bit more mystical than that,” Willow replies with a small smile.

“Willow cast a spell, though, and now every girl who can be a Slayer, is a Slayer,” Buffy says. “That’s why we’re here. To set up a training facility for Slayers near a Hellmouth.”

“A Hellwhat?” Aria asks.

“A Hellmouth,” Giles says. “A place where the barriers between dimensions are weak, leading to a higher demon presence and a general increase in supernatural activity.”

“Sort of like a demon party spot,” Willow says. 

“So you’re saying that Rosewood is a Hellmouth?” Caleb finally speaks from behind the couch. Hanna had almost forgotten he was back there.

Buffy nods. “Located above one. Think about it: the unsolved murders. The people who seem dead, then suddenly reappear. Blind girls who can see. Figures that are everywhere and nowhere, always tracking you and knowing your next move. Doesn’t it sound like something supernatural is at play?”

“It’s the cause of all our problems,” Toby states gruffly, stepping into the middle of the room.

“You believe this?” Spencer asks in surprise.

“I’d heard about it, but I didn’t want to think it could be true,” he replies. “Now it all makes sense. Everything that’s wrong with this town can be boiled down to magic and the supernatural.”

“That’s not entirely accurate,” Willow says, looking a little offended. “I won’t deny that this stuff is kind of out there, but it’s not all bad. Without Buffy’s abilities as a vampire slayer, we wouldn’t be able to…well, slay vampires.”

“Not just Buffy’s,” Faith mutters.

“And without Willow’s magic, girls across the world wouldn’t have that ability either,” Buffy says. 

Ezra clears his throat, but when everyone turns to look at him he just glances up sharply and says nothing.

“It’s not right!” Toby exclaims, waving his hands around. “This town is completely backwards, and this is the reason. You people need to leave. Leave, and take Mary Drake and Jenna Marshall with you. They can join your little crew of deviants.”

“Deviants?” Spencer says with a frown. “Toby, I think these people are really trying to help.”

“Who’s side are you on, Spencer?” Toby asks.

“Why do there have to be sides?” she challenges.

“Okay!” Mona says brightly, standing from one of the plush chairs. “Infighting will get us nowhere. Toby, if you don’t like the sound of all this, I suggest you see yourself out. Forcing our new friends to leave won’t solve any problems. I think they have some rather important information to share, and I for one love a good story.” She plops back down, and actually winks in Faith’s direction.

Toby looks around the group in disbelief. “No one’s with me?” he asks.

“Let’s just hear these people out,” Emily implores.

“Unbelievable,” Toby grumbles as he stomps to the door and slams it behind him.

“Toby!” Caleb calls, rushing to follow him out.

“Well,” Buffy says, leaning a hand on her hip. “That could have been worse. You could have _all_ stormed out. Any questions?”

Mona shifts forward. “What abilities do you two have?”

Faith shrugs. “Strength. Agility. Great fighter. Good instincts.”

“Ideally,” Buffy tacks on. “Also stamina, fast healing, heightened senses.” She seems to consider for a moment. “The occasional prophetic dream.”

“Dreams?” Hanna asks, sitting up. She knows about those. “Like, weird dreams that you think might mean something?”

“And often do,” Buffy says, nodding. “Why?”

Hanna glances at her friends. Spencer is finally back on the couch, looking stunned. Aria looks surprised too, clutching Ezra’s hand. He’s playing with her engagement ring, his feet shifting back and forth, not really looking at one specific thing. Emily looks worried, and Alison…well, Alison has that face on that Hanna can’t quite read. 

Hanna shrinks back down. Now is not the time. “No reason.” She runs a hand through her hair. This is a lot to take in. When she looks up, Spencer is offering her a small smile, mouthing _You okay?_  

Hanna shrugs in response, mouths back _You?_  

Spencer shakes her head, but there’s still the ghost of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

“We can talk about this more,” Buffy says. “But we _are_ here to help you. We have lots and lots of experience with this kind of thing. If this A.D. character is a demon or magic-user, we’ll be able to help.”

“I trust you guys,” Alison announces. It’s the first thing she’s said since Buffy and her friends started talking. Ali looks at the other girls. “I think we all should. They have no reason to lie to us.”

There’s a beat, and then Aria says, “Okay. I trust them too.”

Ezra raises an eyebrow, staring at her intently. “You do?” he says, a note of concern in his voice.

She nods. “Yeah. There’s always been something weird about this town, something that isn’t quite right. Maybe this is it.”

“I agree,” Hanna murmurs sincerely. “We just haven’t let ourselves see it.” Her phone buzzes in her pocket, and when she leans down to check it there’s a message from Caleb: _meet me outside please?_

 _right now?_ she types back.

The response is immediate: _yes._

“Spike has some intel from last night. Apparently one of your possible suspects is a rather promising lead,” Buffy is saying just as Hanna stands up. 

“You’re leaving?” Alison admonishes.

Hanna shrugs apologetically. “I’m sorry. It’s urgent.” Before, she would have mentioned that it was Caleb. But everything has changed in that regard. 

He’s right out in the hall, seemingly having abandoned his mission to stop Toby. “Hey,” he greets gruffly.

“Hi,” she replies. “Are you okay?”

Caleb runs a hand over his face. He looks so tired. “I think I need to get out of here.”

“Like, get a drink or something?” Hanna suggests, immediately not liking the implication there.

“No,” Caleb replies. “Like, leave town.”

Hanna wrinkles her brow. “You just got back. You’re dying to sleep in a tent again already?”

“Hanna,” Caleb says in a way that she knows means he’s serious. “I mean, leave for good.”

Hanna rocks back on her heels, crossing her arms. It feels like she’s been hit with a tidal wave. “Why?”

Caleb sighs. “All this mystical stuff—what if I’m the cause of it? What if I brought it back with me from, y’know…”

“Ravenswood?” she supplies. “Caleb, you didn’t. You heard them: this is, like, a really old thing. It’s just about where the town is. It’s not a virus or something.”

“That may be,” Caleb says. “But either way, I just can’t be around it. You remember what it was like after I got back from there.”

She does. It was horrible. She thought the two of them were destined to eternally free-fall in a spiral of alcohol, greasy food and apathy. She never wants to see him like that again. “Is this because of Toby?” she asks.

“No,” Caleb says. Hanna believes him. “I don’t agree with what he’s saying. This is because of me.”

He sounds so certain, already. “This isn’t just about the magic, is it?” she asks softly. “You’ve been thinking about really leaving for a while?”

Caleb hesitates, then nods. “I think I knew, on some level, what was going on. I’ve seen some things,” he murmurs. “But there is another reason.”

“What’s that?”

Caleb takes one step closer to her, not exactly intimate. “If I stay here, I have a feeling you and I are going to start up again. And I’m not sure if that would be good for either of us. Not to mention—”

“Spencer,” Hanna whispers. “It would kill me to hurt her like that again.”

“Then don’t,” Caleb says. “Let me go. Staying here and being around you two every day, well, I think it would kill me, over time.”

Hanna feels tears welling in her eyes, even as she knows he isn’t wrong. She leans forward to hug him. There’s love between them—there always will be—but she knows, she _knows_ that it’s not meant to be forever. He hugs her back tightly.

When they pull apart, he murmurs, “If I don’t leave today, I never will.”

“You have to say goodbye to Spencer,” Hanna insists. “Do you want me to get her?”

Caleb shakes his head. “I’ll do it,” he says. She’s grateful; going back into that room with everyone sounds like torture right now. Well. Not torture. She actually knows what that feels like.

Hanna nods. “I’ll give you guys a minute.” With one last glance, she murmurs, “Bye, Caleb,” before pulling open the stairwell door. 

“I’ll take the elevator down!” Caleb calls behind her, a hint of teasing in his voice, and that’s when the tears come. Hanna feels something inside her break. Not in a shattered, messy, wrenching way, but in a clean, aching sort of way. Like a piece of paper sliced neatly in two. This can be an awful thing, and the right thing, at the same time.

Hanna stands in the stairwell for several long minutes, breathing deeply and letting her tears fall. Eventually the door opens, and she wipes at her eyes as Spencer steps out into the stairwell.

“Caleb just left,” Spencer says, her voice watery and a bit stunned. She leans against the wall next to Hanna, her body crumpling.

“I know,” Hanna replies simply. The tears are flowing freely now, for them both. Not sobs, just a gentle, steady flow. Hanna’s seen and done so much crying in the last few weeks. It’s a wonder she’s not more dehydrated.

“C’mere,” Hanna finally whispers, pulling Spencer against her in a hug. 

It’s weird to compare hugging Spencer to Caleb, but hard not to do. Spencer hugs her fiercely, like Hanna is all she has to hold onto. And as Hanna lets her eyes drift closed for a second, she suddenly sees a flash of something in her mind:

_Spencer Hastings looks like a girl with a secret._

_Her hair is curled up around her face, her makeup looks just right. But those eyes, they tell another story. They tell a story of somebody in pain._

_She’s sitting on a little couch, while a record plays in the background. A song, sad but sweet. “La Vie En Rose.”_

_“I’m scared,” Spencer whispers. “I don’t know what this means.”_

_Another voice, so familiar, says in response, “I don’t know either.” This other person, here on the couch, is like a haze of a human being, the form almost there but not quite._

_Spencer leans forward and the figure does too, their mouths colliding like the world’s about to end._

Hanna startles back out of the hug, her pulse pounding violently. “What?” Spencer asks, wiping at her eyes.

“I—I’ve been having weird flashes,” Hanna says softly, the words coming out before she can stop them. “More than dreams. Almost like visions.”

“Like psychic visions?” Spencer asks, curious. “Like what Buffy was talking about?”

Hanna breathes in shakily, not quite making eye contact with Spencer. “I don’t know what this means,” she murmurs. “Spence, I’m scared.”

“Han.” Spencer reaches out to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder and Hanna jerks away automatically. She chances a glance up at Spencer’s face to see surprise, but mostly hurt.

Hanna hates being the cause of that, but she can’t be touched by Spencer right now. Her entire body feels like it’s on fire, and her lips almost seem to miss the pressure of Spencer’s against them.


	11. Till Death Do Us Part

Aria is walking down the street, the collar of her leopard print jacket pulled up, Ezra’s arm wrapped tightly around her waist.  She feels dizzy, certain she’s going to wake up in a minute and find out this was all a really weird dream.  She shakes her head forcefully.  She needs to face facts.  Hoping it’s all a long nightmare is Doll House thinking.

“Talk to me,” Ezra says.  The warmth of his body anchors her, reminds her that this is real. She leans into him.  He’s tense, too.  The muscles of his arms are taut, his spine is rigid.  

“It’s a lot to take in.”

“Do you believe them?” Ezra asks.  He’s using the the carefully neutral tone of voice he used to use to generate classroom discussions.  The one that makes it seem like he’s interested in other opinions, even though his is clearly the right one.

“Don’t you?  After everything we’ve seen?  Everything that’s happened?”

“There are more things under heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

“That’s Shakespeare.  Not an answer.”

“Do I believe in vampires and ghosts and things that go bump in the night?  No.  Do I believe in the power of our imagination to create stories to make sense of what we can’t explain?  Absolutely.”

He wasn’t there.  He didn’t see Dr. Rollins turn into a pile of ash.   _After_  they’d already killed him once.  It was like something out of a storybook, only not the kind with fairy godmothers and friendly dwarves.  The ones with illustrations of the wicked step sisters getting their eyes pecked out by crows, running off on the bloody stumps of their feet.  

Not so different from the story of a girl who wakes up in a coffin.  Or in a dungeon that looks exactly like her own bedroom.

Ezra notices her silence, and moves to fill it.  “I’ll tell you what I do believe in,” he says, his voice earnest.  “I believe in us.”  

Aria feels the cold metal band of her engagement ring, a solid circle pinching slightly against her skin.

He sweeps her into a dramatic kiss, bending her nearly backwards.  “You’re all the magic I need,” he whispers, his lips tickling her ear.

“I love you,” she says, automatically.  He still has the power to make her feel sixteen again.  He’s a living, breathing connection to the girl she was before.  

“I love you, too.  Stop worrying about monsters, okay?”

She gives him a small smile.  The Brew is only another block away.  Lights, safety, people.  A door that locks.

“Besides, I have a surprise for you.  Come on.”

His steps speed up, and she hurries along with him, more eager than she’d admit to be indoors.

She watches as he steers her behind the Brew, passing by the rickety steps that lead up to his apartment.

“Where are we going?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise.”  He steers her towards a metal door in the rear of the building, and produces a key that unlocks it to reveal an empty storage room.  

“Is this a panic room?” she asks.  “Are we panicking?”

“Patience,” he responds, with a grin.  She feels a faint shiver.  He’s just trying to be romantic.  She loves that about him.  But the grin is the same grin he used on her the day they met.  The first time he lied to her.  She shakes her head again, trying to dislodge this creeping feeling of uncertainty that’s settling in.  But she can’t help it.  She imagines Elliott Rollins in a sweeping cape, leering over Alison with his fangs out.  

Ezra sweeps a small carpet aside, revealing a trap door, which he opens with a flourish.  It leads to a darkened staircase.  “Come on,” he says.  “I’ll go first.”

Reluctantly, she follows him.  The stairs lead down to what looks like a series of underground catacombs.  Candles flicker, creating long shadows and an eerie otherworldly effect.

“What is this place?”

“If we can’t go to Rome,” he says, still grinning, “I’ll bring Rome to you.”

She stares at him, unsure of exactly where this is going.

He takes her hand, leads her down the corridor.    “I want to marry you.”

“I want to marry you, too,” she replies.  “Next April.  In front of our friends. And my parents.”

“Now,” he says, a gleam in his eye. “I don’t want to spend the next six months looking at table linens and picking out flowers and stemless wine glasses.”

“We don’t have to.  We can do what my parents did.  Twinkle lights and really good cake.  Hanna and Spencer can plan everything.  All you’ll have to do is put on a suit!”

“Aria,” he says, squeezing her hand firmly.  “What if Buffy and her friends aren’t crazy?  What if they’re right?”

“But, you just said -”

“Forget what I said.  Let’s say it’s true.  That whatever is after you this time isn’t human.  That evil forces are at work.  Doesn’t that mean we shouldn’t waste any more time?”

“Carpe Diem.”  

“Exactly.”

“So what, is there an underground wedding venue down here?  Can I call my mom?  Or - I promised Emily she’d be a bridesmaid.”

“If they love you, they’ll be happy that you’re happy.”

He ducks into a crevice that turns out to have a hidden door.  She trails after him, entering a room that looks like a tastefully decorated chapel.  Standing at the altar is Wesley Fitzgerald, a Bible in his hand.  He claps Ezra on the back.  “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it.”

“What is this?” Aria asks.  “You get to have your brother here?”

“He got ordained online.  He’s going to marry us.”

“Right now?”

“Right now,” Wesley agrees.  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to join in holy matrimony this man and this woman -”

“No one is gathered!  We don’t even have any witnesses!  Ezra, is this some kind of joke?”

“What’s the difference?” Ezra asks, as his brother keeps reading at top speed.  “It doesn’t matter if we do this today or next week or next year.  It doesn’t matter if anyone sees or if anyone knows or who has to stand up next to you in an animal print dress.  This is about us.  It’s about how much we love each other.  We can go through the motions and have a big ceremony later on.  But right now, I can’t wait another minute to make you my wife.”

Aria feels her heart softening at the words.  This isn’t a horror movie.  It’s a black and white romance.

“Do you take this woman, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, promising to love her and honor her until death do you part?”

“I do,” Ezra says, so loudly that his voice echoes.  He slips a silver ring on her finger, a big gaudy one, rubies inset with the Fitzgerald family crest.  Something on the back of the band scratches her, breaks her skin so that a small drop of blood pools against the metal.  She tries not to wince.  They can fix it later.

“Do you take this man, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, promising to love him and honor him until death do you part?”

“I do,” Aria agrees.  It feels so final.  So grown up.  She has a _husband_. Ezra hands her a simple gold band that she slips onto his finger.

“I now pronounce you man and wife.  You may kiss the bride.”  Ezra kisses her, snakes his tongue into her mouth and runs a hand over her ass.

“Carpe Diem,” he says.  “Mrs. Fitzgerald.”

Aria hears a roaring in her ears, feels a cold wind whipping through the small space.  She turns around and sees an orange circle floating in mid-air, getting larger and larger until a tall figure steps out.  He’s wearing a lovely gray morning suit, and has pointy ears and purple skin.  Aria tries to step behind Ezra, but he seems completely unperturbed by a non-human wedding crasher.

“Congratulationsssss,” he hisses.  The tongue that darts out of his mouth is green.  And forked.  

“Here you go,” Wesley says, pushing Aria forward.  “This year’s girl.”

“Very petite,” their visitor observes.  “More of an hors d'oeuvre than enough to tide us over for a year.”

“Hang on,” Aria says.  “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m no one’s hors d’oeuvre!”

“Of coursssse not.  I didn’t mean to be crasssss.  We don’t _alwaysss_  eat the tributes, at any rate.”

“Tributes?” Aria says, her voice getting higher and more panicky.  She turns around and looks at Ezra, whose face is still a mask of bland unconcern.  “Ezra, do something!”

“Thissss one hass flair.  The lassst one fainted the moment I ssshowed up.”

“Aria,” Ezra says, an apologetic look on his face.  “I’m sorry.  I know you’re too young to understand.  But sometimes you have to make sacrifices.  This is really hard for me.”

Sacrifices?  This is bad.  She wishes the others were here.  Spencer would kick him in the teeth after Hanna kicked him in the balls.  

“It’s family stuff,” Ezra explains.  “It’s not like it was my idea.  But it’s tradition.  We have to give the Arawalaks a Fitzgerald every year.  Gregor is here to collect.  It’s for prosperity.  Don’t you want the book to be a success?”

He looks exactly the same as he always does, but Aria feels like she’s never really seen him before.  The petulant set of his lips.  The hard lines around his eyes.  

“Not if it means you’re packing me off as a lunch treat for a snakey, scaly stranger!”  She turns towards Gregor, “No offense.  And I love that cumberbund, the yellow really pops with your skintone.”

“Enough small talk,” Wesley snaps.  “She’s a newly minted Fitzgerald.  She’s wearing the ring.  Take her and we’ll see you next year.”

“Ssso anxioussss.”

“We had to move up the time table,” Ezra announces.  “There’s a band of Slayers in town.”

“And you sssummoned me?  Knowing a Ssslayer wass here?”  He sounds displeased.  Aria slides the crested ring carefully off her finger and clenches it in her fist.  

“I loved you,” she whispers to Ezra.  “And you and your brother are just tossing me to the wolves here?  For money?”

“Money,” Wesley nods.  “And power.  Don’t act so offended.  You’ve been back together all of five minutes.”   _Now_.  She slaps him hard across the mouth.  So hard that a little blood flies out of his mouth and onto the ring, which she drops neatly into the pocket of his suit coat.

Gregor quirks an eyebrow at her.  

“Let’s get this over with,”  Ezra says, coldly.  “We had a good run, Aria.  I’d rather remember us at our best than draw it out any further.”

“Please,” she begs him.  “Please don’t do this.”

“It’s already done.  Don’t you remember?  Sometimes the villain wins.”

“Not this time,” she says, through clenched teeth, as she delivers a solid self defense kick straight to his chest.  She knocks him backwards into Wesley, who goes sprawling in front of the Arawalak demon.  Gregor’s lower jaw unhinges, making his mouth a giant gaping maw.

“What are you doing?” Wesley demands.  “She’s right there!”

Gregor flicks his tongue towards Wesley’s pocket, where the outline of the ring is faintly visible.  “No,” he says, frantically trying to pull it out.  “No!”  But it’s too late.  The demon swallows him whole, then burps.

Ezra is wild with fury.  “This is your fault!” he shouts.

“I’ll let you two love birdsss work thisss out,” Gregor declares, snapping his fingers to summon his portal again.  “Until next time!”

“Bring him back!” Ezra cries.  “Take her.  Take her instead!”

Aria feels his hands wrapping around her waist as he tries to force her bodily into the portal.  She struggles against him as hard as she can, but his rage is fueling his iron grip.  As the portal starts to close, he moves his hands to her neck, his fingers nearly crushing her windpipe.  She flails, trying to scratch at his hands, but she can’t breathe, her vision is starting to black out.  Ezra’s face, contorted with fury, is going to be the last thing she ever sees.  But then his head sags forward, blood splatters her collar, and Ezra’s hands go nerveless.

Aria sinks to her knees, the image of the chapel dissolving around her.  The room reforms itself and she finds herself on a floor covered with overstuffed cushions.  

Noel Kahn is standing over Ezra’s prone body with a rock in his hand.

His eyes are crinkled with concern, but his playboy smile is plastered across his face.

“Did you miss me?”


	12. Losing the Thread

“Bring him back!” Ezra cries. “Take her. Take her instead!”

Aria feels his hands wrapping around her waist as he tries to force her bodily into the portal. She struggles against him as hard as she can, but his rage is fueling his iron grip. As the portal starts to close, he moves his hands to her neck, his fingers nearly crushing her wind pipe. She flails, trying to scratch at his hands, but she can’t breathe, her vision is starting to black out. Ezra’s face, contorted with fury, is going to be the last thing she ever sees. But then his head sags forward, blood splatters her collar, and Ezra’s hands go nerveless.

Aria sinks to her knees, the image of the chapel dissolving around her. The room reforms itself and she finds herself on a floor covered with overstuffed cushions. 

Noel Kahn is standing over Ezra’s prone body with a rock in his hand. 

His eyes are crinkled with concern, but his playboy smile is plastered across his face.

“Did you miss me?”

Aria staggers away from him, from the smell of blood and the sight of Ezra's eyes glassing over.

She throws up quietly in the corner of the room.

This is a dream. A nightmare.

This can't be happening.

She goes back and kneels next to the body. She runs her fingers along his neck. 

She's not hoping for a pulse.

She's hoping for a mask. A rubber face that will peel off.

The real Ezra tied to a chair in a closet somewhere, waiting for her to rescue him.

There's no mask. Just the lingering scent of his aftershave.

A sob bursts from her chest, comes out almost like a scream.

“Drink this,” Noel tells her, handing her some kind of green liquid, smoking in a vial. “It’ll help.”

She removes her hands from Ezra's neck. They're shaking.

“I’m not trying to poison you,” Noel promises. “I just saved you.”

She drinks, and feels warmth spreading through her chest. She feels calmer. Steadier. She drinks again.

Noel starts rolling Ezra’s body into a rug.

“Do you want me to call Alison? Or Mike? Or someone?”

There's a thread on the sleeve of her jacket that's loose. Unraveling. She runs a finger over it.

"Aria?"

“No,” Aria says, her own voice sounding far away. It’s all too much. Magic is real. Their stalker is super human. And her one true love tried to sacrifice her to a demon for financial gain. “I mean, no thank you. I need a little time to process.”

“Fair enough.” 

She runs her finger over the thread again, tugging at it. Everything is coming undone.

“What is this place?”

“Little Shop of Magic. It's a hobby of mine,” he explains, pulling a deck of tarot cards off the shelf. He takes the cards and fans them across the counter, then plucks one out at random. “The Fool,” he announces. “That’s him.” He motions for Aria to select a card.

She wonders if there's a card for her. How can there be? Her whole life is in shambles. She was with Ezra for so many years, and she never really knew him at all. She imagines a picture of herself in a blindfold, holding a scale with a heavy heart. She turns over the High Priestess. 

“This one must be you,” he tells her. “It’s powerful.”

He frowns at the doubtful look on her face.

"Magic doesn't lie."

The thread is lengthening. She's going to have to cut it. Bite it off with her teeth.

How can she know so little about magic?

"It's real, Aria," he says. He's being kind, for Noel. 

"I know," she says, feeling hollow. "It's been this huge force in my life, and I was just - blind to it." She was blind to a lot of things.

Noel mumbles a few words and summons a portal of his own. He hefts Ezra and the rug over his shoulder, then tosses them both through. “It’s not too late to learn.”

“Why are you being so nice?” Aria asks. 

He should be saying all kinds of I told you so. He should be calling her an idiot for following Ezra down here, for actually marrying him! Even after Alison’s creepy vampire husband locked her in a mental hospital! 

The thread snaps suddenly in her hand. She feels like she's going to dissolve into a million pieces any second now. 

“I’m a nice guy.”

“Even she’s not stupid enough to believe that,” Jenna Marshall’s voice cuts into the moment. “Is everything okay? I felt the energy signal for a couple of portals, and I thought - maybe something important was happening.”

The two of them exchange a significant look before Noel shakes his head. “Ezra Fitz. Tried to sacrifice her to an Arawalak. I had no idea. He was renting the space with a wedding chapel glamour.”

“Men,” Jenna says, sounding disgusted. She puts a hand on Aria’s shoulder. “You’re in shock,” she says. 

She's clutching the thread in her hand. Is she in shock? Her legs feel shaky. Her mind is numb. Her heart feels like it's been shot through with jagged glass.

“I can take care of things here,” Noel says. “The body’s in a trash dimension, no one needs to know.”

“You can tell people he left town,” Jenna suggests. “The two of you had an argument and he stormed off. Noel can disappear his car.”

She listens to them making plans. She concentrates on the movement of her neck as she nods. 

They're helping her. They're taking care of everything. A voice in her head, one that sounds like Spencer, has a question. Why?

“You guys,” Aria says, confused. “You guys aren’t my friends.”

“We’re covering up a murder,” Jenna drawls. “Isn’t that what you normally do for fun? Or do you want me to braid your hair and make you a friendship bracelet?”

“And friends don’t let friends go to prison,” Noel adds. “I told you, we can call Hanna or Emily or whoever. But you’ll be making them an accessory after the fact.”

“No,” Aria says. They don't need to know. They have enough problems to worry about. “No, it’s okay.”

“Alright then,” Jenna says. “I’ll take you back to The Radley with me.”

“Why?” Maybe they'll be a sewing kit in the room. 

“In case you need an alibi. No one in this town will believe I’d be willing to lie for you.”

Aria nods. She can’t quite believe it herself.

“You two go have your pajama party,” Noel says. “But first, a little pick me up for the road?” He reaches a hand out towards Aria and energy flashes like lightning from his fingers to her chest.

It feels like being instantly drunk, a mellow drunk, floaty. Oh, she actually is floating. Levitating a few inches off the floor as power flows warm and sweet through her body. Magic is like, well, magic.

Her whole body relaxes. The thread drifts slowly to the floor.

She’s not sure if it’s been five minutes or an hour, time seems hazy and meaningless when he’s done. Solid ground is a harsh disappointment.

Noel is grinning again, as he scatters some kind of powder on the floor to lift the bloodstains.

“Don’t let his power go to your head,” Jenna warns, quietly. She leads her back out into the corridor quickly. Aria vaguely notices she left her cane outside.

“She doesn’t need my power,” Noel calls after them. “Sooner or later, she’s going to find her own.”


	13. The Places You Don't Walk Away From

The Catacombs Demon Bar is quiet tonight. 

Spike took it upon himself to do a little recon. It’s mostly an excuse to drink and get out of the estrogen-filled loft that’s apparently become headquarters; it’s been a week since the big reveal, and everyone’s all up in arms over various plots and plans. He needed to get out. But halfway through his second whiskey he hasn’t found much. A few demons chatting by the jukebox, some vampires playing pool. Nobody familiar or out of the ordinary.

That is, until three people shuffle in: that not-blind chick, her magic dealer, and one of the girls they’re helping. It’s the pint-sized one who’s always wearing bird feathers in her ears. Aria. The three of them sit down at a table on the other side of the bar, and even from here Spike can see that Aria’s big eyes are looking a little glassy. 

What do you know. He wouldn’t have taken the little bird to be a magic junkie. Though he’s passively noticed that she’s seemed a bit off at the planning meetings.

Spike rolls his eyes and looks away. A tall, busty blonde is at the other end of the bar, smiling at him. She takes a long sip of her blood martini, offers him a little wave. Hi, she mouths. Well, who’s he to pass up a sure thing? Spike stands, already scrawling his number on a napkin as he starts to move down the bar. 

But out of the corner of his eye he can see Jenna and the man rising and walking outside. Aria’s left alone, and this isn’t the place for that. With a sigh, Spike changes course.

“Fancy running into you here,” he says, sliding onto the stool beside her.

Aria’s posture straightens, her eyes narrowing. “What’re you doing here?”

Spike raises an eyebrow. “Last I checked I was the sort who belonged in a joint like this. I think the better question is what brings a lady like yourself to the catacombs?”

Aria’s trying to look defiant, he can tell, but she’s a bit too buzzed to pull it off. “I’m meeting some friends.”

“I can see that. And here I thought the witch was at the top of your enemies list.”

Aria slumps against the chair, her finger drawing little loops on the table. “My other friends don’t know I’m here,” she admits quietly.

“You seem like the type who tell each other everything.” He takes another swig of his whiskey, then offers it to her. She hesitates for a moment before taking a tentative sip. “No poison in there, love,” he assures her. “Besides the usual kind.”

“My friends—my other friends—they don’t know everything about me,” Aria tells him. “Something happened and Jenna and Noel are helping me out.”

“Noel?” Spike says incredulously. “That bloke’s name is Noel?”

Aria shrugs. “Your name is Spike.”

“Wasn’t always.” He glances down at her hand, notices the gleaming diamond isn’t in its usual place. “Your friends don’t know about that either?” he asks, looking pointedly at her ringless finger. 

“I’m still wearing it around them,” she says, staring straight ahead.

“But Jenna and Noel know?”

Aria nods, her expression growing a bit wistful. “We always gave them such a hard time. Acting like they were out to get us. But y’know, in their story, maybe we’re the bad guys. And they’re the heroes. Just trying to get by.”

Spike smiles in spite of himself. “You got a mind for stories?” 

“I’m a writer,” Aria replies. Her expression grows suddenly grave. “Or…I was going to be a writer.”

Spike nods. “We tell ourselves stories in order to live.”

Aria looks up at him in surprise. “You’ve read Joan Didion?”

“Of course. The woman knows how to craft a tragedy.”

“Life changes in the instant,” Aria recites. “The ordinary instant.” She sighs heavily. She’s staring off again, her eyes glassy. Nearly tearful. Clearly on something.

Spike glances around. Jenna and Noel will be back soon, he’s sure. They’d be fools to leave Aria alone for very long, if they’re using her for some purpose. And that’s certainly what they’re doing; no matter what the girl might say, there’s nothing virtuous about those two. 

“Look, little bird,” Spike says with a bit more urgency in his tone. Aria must notice because she turns to face him. “I’m sure you can take care of yourself. But those two aren’t anybody’s hero. And believe me, I would know.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m no hero either.”

Aria grins crookedly. “If you’re not a hero, why did you come over and talk to me?”

“I made a promise to a lady,” Spike replies. 

Speak of the devil. Just then, Jenna and Noel walk back in. She’s leaning heavily against his arm, her blind performance in full effect. Noel smirks when he sees Spike, but that seems to be a constant on his face. 

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” Noel comments.

“Who is it, Noel?” Jenna asks, suspicious.

“Your little buddy. The vampire.”

Jenna arches an eyebrow over the top of her sunglasses. “How do you know our friend Aria?”

“We go way back,” Spike replies. 

“Seems we have a lot in common,” Noel says.

Spike rises from his seat, sliding the napkin with his hastily scrawled phone number into Aria’s palm. She needs it more than the blonde from before. “Not so sure about that one,” he says quietly. “You see, unlike you, I have a soul.”

Noel settles Jenna down into a chair, stepping toward Spike. “What was that?”

Spike shakes his head. “Nothing,” he replies. He turns to Aria. “Hang in there.”

She looks up at him, her expression curious. Spike heads back to the bar, orders himself another whiskey. 

As long as those three are here, he’s not letting Aria out of his sight. It may be a long night, but he has all the time in the world.


	14. Time Makes You Bolder

“Why am I here again?” Ella asks from her spot on one of Ashley Marin’s kitchen bar stools. “In my experience, the girls generally like to keep us out of their plans.”

“That’s just it,” Ashley replies, grabbing a few bottles of water out of the fridge and handing one to Ella. “In this particular circumstance, they need our help.”

Ella squints, unconvinced. “I know that you’re a Slayer, but I don’t exactly have a degree in the paranormal.” 

“That’s not going to be part of the explanation,” Ashley says brusquely, pulling a few more beverages out from the fridge. Ella stares longingly at a bottle of half-drunk white wine, but Ashley leaves it be. It makes her think of the night when they all found out about Ashley, that long evening spent in the DiLaurentis basement when the elder Marin’s particular set of skills had very much come in handy.

“Can I ask you something?” Ella asks. Ashley doesn’t look up at her but nods. “Why don’t you tell Hanna? If she already knows that that world exists, why not tell her everything?”

Ashley says nothing, just continues intently arranging the water bottles and sodas in a circle on the countertop. 

Ella sighs. “Of course I want to help the girls,” she continues. “But what is it that you think we’re going to do? They’re grown up now. Aria hasn’t accepted my advice on anything since…” She considers. “I don’t think she’s ever accepted my advice.”

“It’s not advice so much as help,” Ashley explains. “And Pam is out of town and Veronica is busy with some senatorial what-have-you, so it’s up to you and I.” The doorbell chimes. “They’re here. Are you with me?”

Ella nods. “Of course. I’ll get the door.” She stands and goes to answer it, surprised when the person standing there is none other than Giles. “Hi!” she says in surprise, rocking back slightly on her heels. She automatically takes in the sight of him. His clothes are a bit rumpled, likely the effect of temporarily living out of a suitcase. But he still looks rather distinguished in his vest and tie. There’s something about that extra effort of putting himself together that Ella finds incredibly charming.

Giles looks even more startled than she is, his pretty eyes going wide. “Oh! Hello, Ella. And how are you today?”

She smiles, her cheeks warming slightly. “I’m well, thank you.” She holds his gaze for a second longer than is appropriate, as she adds, “And yourself?”

“Quite well indeed,” he replies, his expression softening.

“Sheesh, get a room, you two!” Faith proclaims, pushing past Giles to walk into the house.

Ella steps back quickly, her hands knitting together, fingers tracing over her wedding band. I knew I’d find my way back to you, reads the engraving. Byron had surprised her with it on their wedding day. Their second wedding day. Though she suspects he’d had it made up long before.  
 _  
“Have some wine,” Byron suggested, already filling up her glass. “You like this kind.”_

_Ella frowned and took a sip. The taste was instantly familiar. “We had it on our honeymoon.”_

_“We did,” Byron confirmed. “It was the most expensive thing about that whole weekend.”_

_Ella laughed in spite of herself. “We didn’t have a clue, did we? God, were we ever that young?”_

_Byron nodded, taking a sip of his own wine. Ella had to admit that he didn’t look much older than he had on that fateful weekend. She wished she knew his secret; she herself felt about a million years older._

_“Why did you invite me here?” she asked, already feeling a knot of nostalgia start to form in her belly._

_“Because we belong together, Ella,” Byron said. “Look, Aria just got a job in Boston. Mike will be graduating college before we know it. Our kids are grown up and starting their lives. Shouldn’t we get to enjoy the rest of ours?”_

_“Byron…” Ella said warningly._

_“I was at my best when I was with you,” Byron insisted. “We were at our best when we were together.”_

_“I’m not sure if that’s true.”_

_“Who knows you better than I do?” Byron asked. “Who else loves everything about you? Let’s do it right this time. Everything was rushed before. You were pregnant with Aria practically by the end of our honeymoon.”_

_Ella raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying that Aria was a mistake?”_

_“Of course not!” Byron said, his voice growing a bit louder. “What I’m saying is that no one is going to make us as happy as we make each other. What I’m saying is that I want us to give this another shot.” His eyes gleamed bright. Ella could see that his mind was made up, that he probably believed it was only a matter of time before she agreed._

_She thought about Aria and Mike, about how happy they’d be to know that their parents were settled down together. She could move back into her house, could finally chat with the neighbors who’d watched her children grow up without feeling like a social pariah. She could get her old life back. Byron was right—he knew her inside and out. They could talk about literature, could enjoy the same movies and museums. He knew exactly how she took her coffee and all her favorite pizza toppings. That counted for a lot, in the long run._

_All she had to do was say yes.  
_  
Ella shakes her head, pushing the memory aside. “Come in,” she says, though Faith needed no instruction. Everyone files inside: all of the people from Giles’s crew, followed by Mona, Emily, Alison, Spencer, Hanna, and finally Aria. 

“Hey!” Ella says brightly when she sees her daughter. “I’ve barely talked to you all week.” She glances around outside. “Where’s Ezra?”

“Not coming,” Aria replies woodenly. She looks…off, somehow. Her eyes lack their usual brightness, her posture seems stiff. She’s been like that all week, oddly taciturn. Ella’s guessing it’s just pre-wedding jitters mixed in with everything else.

“You okay?” Ella asks as they make their way into the kitchen. 

Aria merely nods, flashing Ella a rather false-looking smile. Ella wants to ask a follow-up question but Ashley starts speaking then.

“Thank you all for coming,” she says. “You may be wondering why I asked you here, but it’s because I want to help.”

“Help with what, Mom?” Hanna asks from the other side of the counter.

“Well, Ella and I have been a little out of the loop, but we both know what’s going on,” Ashley replies.

“You do?” Spencer murmurs, sounding concerned.

“We know that Rosewood is located over a Hellmouth,” Ella states. 

Ashley picks up the thread. “And if you all have a plan to stop this person—or demon—who’s after you, we want to help.”

Ella looks to Aria for a reaction, but she doesn’t seem especially focused on the conversation. Hanna, on the other hand, exclaims, “You know, Mom?”

“I’ve lived in this town a lot longer than you have,” Ashley replies simply. “I’ve seen some things.”

“I wish people would stop saying that,” Hanna mutters.

“Is that why you brought Buffy and everyone around?” Spencer asks.

“Yes,” Ashley says, though Ella wouldn’t be totally convinced if she was one of the girls. Ashley hasn’t been entirely forthcoming about her relationship with the cutely named Scooby Gang, but Ella hasn’t wanted to push her. There are certain things Ashley just doesn’t talk about, and Ella respects that. It’s something of an unspoken agreement between them: Ella doesn’t ask about Ashley’s relationship with the supernatural, and Ashley doesn’t ask about Ella’s relationship with Byron.

“There is a plan in motion, right?” Ella prompts. “It seems there usually is.”

Everyone glances around for a beat before Alison confirms, “There is.”

Ashley nods. “Okay. Let’s get started.”

\-----

“Do you think it could really work?” Ella asks. “I mean, we hadn’t even thought of it before.”

“I’m sure it could work,” Giles replies. “Just because it’s unconventional doesn’t mean it will fail.”

Ella nods, convinced. “Alright,” she says. “I’ll pitch it to Aria.” She sighs, rubbing her forefinger over her chin. “Wow, putting the bridesmaids in white and the bride in purple. What an unusual idea.”

“If you’re quite finished,” Spike says through nearly gritted teeth. “Perhaps back to the matter at hand, eh?”

“A matter quite literally of life and death?” Spencer tacks on.

Ella flashes a small, apologetic smile and Giles clears his throat. “Right, right,” he says. “Where were we?”

“The plan,” Spencer says tersely. “We were right in the middle when—”

“Thank you, Spencer,” Ella cuts in. “I think we’re all up to speed. So, the church.”

“Yeah.” Spencer’s eyes are bright. “And once Emily’s alone, we’ll finally have the opportunity to trap A.D. once and for all.” She nods in Emily’s direction, but her gaze seems to be more focused on Hanna, a few feet away.

“Do you feel good about this?” Ella asks. She hates that they live in this world, where their daughters have to plan like generals in order to get through the day. Where the skills Ella instilled in Aria aren’t nearly enough for her to survive.

Spencer refocuses, squaring her shoulders. “I think it’s the best chance we’ve got.”


	15. Over Our Heads

Spencer always feels better when she’s armed with a plan.

It’s something of a small comfort, when Caleb is gone, Hanna and Aria are acting weird, and freaking vampires are real, but it’s a comfort nonetheless. They have a plan. They’re going to trap A.D.

It begins, as it has before, with a fight. Or, a fake fight. She and Emily have gotten pretty good at this.

“Why can’t you just open your eyes?!” Emily is screaming at her on the street outside the Brew. “We can end this once and for all!”

A few people on the sidewalk give them strange looks. A family crosses the street. Not the first time that’s happened.

“You’re talking about trusting our sworn enemy, Emily!” Spencer shouts in reply. “How can you be so naive?”

“Because I don’t make lifetime judgments about everyone I meet! I’m not a stubborn, stuck-up Hastings!” Emily retorts. “And I don’t care what you and the others say. I’m ending this. Tonight.”

With that, Emily storms off down the street. Spencer’s eyes follow her and she takes a few deep breaths. A quick visual inspection confirms that no cars have stopped, no cameras are flashing. Still, Spencer walks halfway down the block before she directs into her earpiece, “She’s on the move.”

“Roger that,” Mona replies immediately. “Faith and I are still getting into position. I’d wave if it wouldn’t entirely blow our cover.”

“I think I’ll manage without,” Spencer says curtly, glancing upward. She can’t see Mona and Faith up on top of the Brew, but she has a mental image of the two of them surrounded by Mission Impossible-style gear.

She looks around for another moment before locating Hanna’s car a bit further down the block. Spencer feels oddly tense as she heads over; everything’s been a bit awkward between them since Caleb left. It doesn’t surprise her; some part of Hanna probably blames her for Caleb leaving, for looming as an obstacle over their probable reconciliation even after he and Spencer had broken up. And Hanna’s been dealing with those strange visions, too, though she refuses to tell Spencer more about them. So it’s not a huge shock, but it still hurts, especially when Hanna can barely look her in the eye and seems to forever want lots of physical space between them.

“Emily’s heading toward the church,” Spencer tells Hanna as she slides into the passenger’s seat. “She’ll text you when she hears from A.D.?”

Hanna nods. “Yep, when Emily sends what looks to be a pocket text, we’ll know we’re good to go. I still don’t like this though.”

“I know,” Spencer sighs. “I don’t either. But this seems to be the only way. And she isn’t alone. Spike will be there the whole time.”

“And Mona and Faith?”

“Still getting set up.”

“They seem to be getting cozy,” Hanna comments. She checks her rearview mirror twice before starting the car.

“Han,” Spencer says softly. “Do you want me to drive?”

Hanna looks at her for a second, and Spencer almost feels like she’s coming up for air. It’s the most eye contact they’ve had in over a week. Hanna shakes her head. “I’m fine.” She clicks her seatbelt into place, motioning for Spencer to do the same. “Thanks for asking.”

“Of course.” They drive in silence for a moment, Spencer gazing distractedly out the window. All these people going about their day—they have no idea of what’s really going on, do they? Spencer wants to roll her window down, to scream, “Get out of here while you can!” Why stay, when you could leave?

Well, she knows a pretty good reason is sitting right beside her.

“You think Mona and Faith will get together?” Spencer asks suddenly, turning to face Hanna.

Hanna’s brow wrinkles. Spencer guesses she wasn’t expecting that. “I sort of do.”

Good, Spencer thinks as they drive on in silence. Everyone deserves somebody to love.

\-----

“Let’s run through the plan again,” Spencer suggests once Alison and Aria have joined them in the car and they’re headed toward the church.

“Again, Spence?” Alison asks, but there’s a small smile at the corner of her mouth.

“No such thing as too prepared,” Spencer replies. “So, we’re on stake-out duty. We’ll see if we can actually identify this son of a bitch.”

“Right,” Hanna says. “Which is why I brought my giant Prada sunglasses and these binoculars.” She holds up a large pair of binoculars, a gift from Spencer years ago.

“Hanna, it’s almost dark out,” Alison points out.

“It’s a _stake-out_ ,” Hanna says like it’s obvious. “Sunglasses are a must.”

“But just because we’re staking out doesn’t mean we’re actually, y’know, _staking_ anyone, so that’s where Spike and Buffy come in,” Spencer continues.

Hanna smirks. “How long have you been working on that one?”

“It just came to me.” Spencer shrugs, secretly thrilled to have gotten a smile out of Hanna.

“Spike’s in the church with Em already?” Alison asks.

Spencer nods. “Affirmative. Once A.D. shows up, Willow will seal the exits, and our Big Bad will find him or herself trapped with Buffy and Spike.”

“Or theirself!” Hanna pipes in.

“Themselves,” Spencer corrects. “But you’re right that I shouldn’t be so binary.” Alison nods approvingly.

Aria sits forward a little from the backseat. “How intense is the spell Willow’s going to use?” she asks. It’s pretty much the first thing she’s said the entire car ride.

Alison shrugs. “I don’t know. She’s pretty powerful, so I don’t think it can hurt her or anything.”

“And Giles is helping. And your mom too, I think,” Spencer directs to Aria.

Aria sits back, scowling. “I don’t know why my mom is here.”

“I don’t know why my mom is here either!” Hanna exclaims. “But she seems to think she can help Buffy and Spike somehow, though god knows why.”

“Weird,” Alison says quietly.

“And all the while Mona and Faith will be keeping an eye out from the Brew, while Mona tries to hack A.D.’s phone,” Spencer explains.

“And A.D. really thinks Emily has valuable info?” Hanna asks.

“Apparently so,” Spencer says. “A.D. may or may not be human, but they have weaknesses too.”

Alison snorts. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Hanna finds a parking spot near the church, not too close as to be conspicuous. “We’re here,” Spencer reports into her headpiece.

“Emily’s inside with me,” Spike whispers in response. “Primed and ready for A.D.”

“Exactly as we planned.” Spencer checks her watch. It’s nearly seven, the sky steadily dimming. A.D. should be showing up any minute.

She actually feels positive about this, though she wouldn’t dare think the word hope. Before, they couldn’t fight A.D. because they didn’t know all the possibilities. They were playing a game without knowing the rules. But now that Buffy and her friends have opened their eyes, maybe they have a chance to truly end this once and for all. They’re armed with magic and fighting skills, on top of Mona’s abilities. It’s the best shot they’ve ever had.

Spencer scans the surrounding area over and over, her eyes morphing the shapes of trees into lanky, hooded figures. Finally, when Alison leans forward to grab her arm, Spencer realizes that an actual person is approaching from far down the road. The face isn’t visible from this angle, but the figure is tall, dressed entirely in black.

Hanna holds up her binoculars. “That’s A.D.!” she whisper-yells.

Spencer nods, staring intently at the figure as it moves toward the entrance of the church. She can’t identify anything about the person, but there’ll be time for that after Spike and Buffy subdue them.

Or at least, there should be, but then Spencer notices something else. Behind A.D., seemingly out of the shadows, comes a brigade of tough looking guys. They aren’t wearing masks, which means that Spencer can see their oddly deformed faces.

So that’s what a vampire looks like.

“Guys,” Hanna says, nervous.

There look to be at least a dozen vampires following A.D. up the steps and into the church. Spencer instinctively half-ducks down—if she can see them, they can surely see her—but the vampires seem to be pretty singularly focused on getting inside the church.

“Oh my god,” Alison breathes. “Look.” She raises her hand, pointing toward the end of the line where a vampire that looks unmistakably like Darren Wilden is rushing up the church steps.

“We have to do something,” Spencer says automatically. “Spike and Buffy and Em—they’re way outnumbered.” She turns to look over at the van where Willow, Giles and Ella have set up shop. She can’t imagine how they’re feeling right now.

“What can we do?” Hanna asks. “We can’t fight like them.”

“We can try,” Spencer tells her, already opening her door. “Come on.”

The four of them make their way out of the car. Spencer really has no idea what to do, but she knows she can’t leave her friends in there alone.

“Alison!” a voice hisses as soon as they get outside. It’s Ashley Marin, coming around from the other side of the church.

Hanna whips around. “Mom?”

“Stay there, Hanna,” Ashley instructs seriously. “Alison, I need you to come with me.”

Alison shoots them all that same damn unreadable look Spencer’s seen so many times, before taking Ashley’s hand and disappearing back behind the church without another word.

“What the hell was that?” Hanna mutters.

“Everyone has secrets,” Aria says lowly.

Spencer’s ears perk up at that. Aria’s been almost like a phantom for the past few days, but Spencer’s been too distracted to do much about it. Tomorrow, she promises herself, she and Aria will talk. That is, if they’re all still alive after tonight.

The remaining three of them tiptoe up the steps. “Where’s Buffy?” Hanna asks.

“I don’t know,” Spencer replies, starting to feel sick. They were supposed to be on stake-out duty, not thrown into a pit of vampires. This plan is starting to take a turn she doesn’t feel at all good about.

“What kills a vampire again?” Aria asks.

“Decapitation. Staking,” Spencer recalls.

“Fire,” Hanna says.

Aria nods, looking distracted. Almost like she’s running permutations in her head.

“Take these,” Spencer instructs, pulling three cross necklaces from her pocket and handing one to each of them. They get to the door of the church, and with a deep breath Spencer yanks it open.

Inside, the fight is in full swing. Buffy is there, thankfully, delivering a brutal-looking roundhouse kick to a vampire’s head. Spike has one in a chokehold. Emily is at the other end of the church, waving a wooden cross in the face of one vamp and looking terrified. In the middle of it all is the probable A.D., dressed head-to-toe in black and appearing to enjoy the chaos.

Spencer thinks she hears sirens suddenly, and quickly after that the sound of Toby on his microphone, yelling, “Does someone want to tell me what the hell is going on here?”

Oh god, that won’t solve anything. Spencer can’t hear a response, but a couple of vampires—Darren Wilden included—turn to face Spencer, Aria and Hanna and the sound of the sirens.

“Well, aren’t you girls a sight for sore eyes,” Wilden comments. Spencer wants to throw up, but she holds up her necklace, motioning for Hanna and Aria to do the same.

It works, sort of. The vampires don’t come closer. But with a flourish, Wilden produces a small glowing ball from the pocket of his suit jacket, tossing it with gusto up at the ceiling. Aria gasps.

The ceiling cracks, and amid the other noises of the moment a rustling sound greets Spencer’s ears.

“Oh fuck,” she murmurs, as hundreds of squeaking bats swarm down from the ceiling. The room darkens as they fill the church, though the vampires don’t seem to mind. Hanna shrieks and jumps behind Spencer while Aria just makes a high-pitched noise of terror and ducks down. Emily, still near the alter, picks up a large silver tray and holds it over her head.

The bats keep flying around, a few getting perilously close to Spencer’s face, their wings flapping loudly. Wilden waves an arm through the air, and as he does something gleaming in his jacket pocket catches Spencer’s eye.

“Did Wilden carry a flask?” she asks Hanna, who nods in reply.

“How is us being here helping?” Hanna asks shakily.

“Keep your cross out,” Spencer instructs. “I’ve got an idea.” She inches forward, leaving Aria and Hanna near the doorway to duck from the vamps and the bats. Holding her cross out firmly, Spencer makes her way toward Wilden, all the while keeping eye contact with Emily, who’s behind him near a display of lit candles.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” she comments, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible. Hard to do, when she’s surrounded by bedlam.

“Spencer Hastings,” Wilden says in his smarmy way. “It’s going to be so satisfying to kill you.”

Emily approaches from behind him, the silver tray in hand. “Is it now?” Spencer asks, her stomach dropping when she hears Toby’s voice rising outside. “Because I was going to say the same thing to you.”

With that, Emily slams the tray down hard on Wilden’s head. He’s only incapacitated for a second, but that’s all the time Spencer needs to dart her hand forward and snatch the flask from his pocket. She ducks under the angry swing of his arms and runs toward the back of the church, her necklace slipping to the ground in her hurry.

“Grab the candle!” she instructs Emily. Emily does so, and Spencer scampers toward the stairs, dumping the contents of Wilden’s flask behind her. Emily follows her lead, tipping the flame of the candle into the alcohol and igniting a fire on the floor of the church.

Some of the vampires yell in frustration, just as Hanna screams, “Spencer!”

Spencer looks behind her. Emily’s right there, but there’s a wall of vampires beyond her. A few disintegrate into dust, but others appear to be almost fueled by the fire and are moving closer. Buffy and Spike seem to have disappeared, as has A.D. Spencer’s plan was to take down the majority of the vamps with the fire, but there’s no way they can make it out of here alive, especially not without their crosses and their protection squad.

“Goddammit!” Wilden roars, moving toward them around the rapidly spreading flames.

“Up,” Emily murmurs. “We have to take the stairs.” Emily lurches forward, grabbing Spencer’s hand, and Spencer helps her maneuver up the narrow stairs to the bell tower.

She can feel the heat in the room rising. Some bats are still whirling around, though many have escaped back out the hole in the ceiling. Spencer runs up the stairs, Emily in toe, the pound of her pulse deafening.

Spencer chances a glance behind her. Hanna and Aria are trying to wrench the door open. The fire is spreading, smoke rising higher in the church. Spencer chokes on her breath as she and Emily huddle in an alcove near the top of the tower.

Spencer tries to see through the stained glass window outside the bell tower, but the smoke makes it difficult. “Em,” she whispers, taking Emily’s hand. She screws her eyes shut, willing a miracle to occur as the heavy sound of foot beats thuds closer.


	16. Arrested Development

Buffy sits on a park bench, pretending to read _The Rosewood Observer_. “This is a terrible cover,” she whispers into her comm link. “No one reads actual newspapers anymore.”

“More’s the pity,” Giles responds. 

“You can take the Watcher out of the library. But only if you blow it up,” Buffy observes.

“Are we blowing anything up?” Ella Montgomery asks, nervously. 

“No, no,” Giles assures her. “Just one of Buffy’s little jokes.”

“If you’re through playing pattycake,” Spike mutters, “Can we get a check on our positions?”

“Roger that,” Mona’s voice responds, crisp and efficient. “We’re in place. We have eyes and ears on the church.”

“I’m inside with the package,” Spike intones. “Ready for a good spot of violence.”

“I’m in position,” Ashley Marin confirms. “No movement at the back door.”

“Spellcasting team ready to seal the exits,” Willow says. “The moment you give the signal. Wait. What’s the signal again?”

“How about when I say ‘Seal the exits?’” Buffy suggests. “Where are the girls?”

“Silver car, parked in the northwest corner of the square,” Spencer reports. 

“I love it when a plan comes together,” Buffy declares. 

“Do you have a lot of experience with this kind of thing?” Ella asks.

“Sure we do!” Willow enthuses. “Buffy especially! She’s the best at traps! On account of always walking into them!”

Buffy grins in the direction of the van where Willow, Ella, and Giles have set up their base of operations. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sweetie.”

“We have a couple of vamps approaching,” Mona warns. “They’re hanging back. Like they’re waiting for a signal.”

“Steal my plan,” Buffy grumbles.

“We have a, ah, civilian taking an interest in the van,” Giles notes. “I’m afraid the smell of sage might be giving her the wrong idea.”

“That’s Mrs. Akard!” Ashley hisses.

“And the loitering vamps are looking at her like she’s a fruit roll up,” Buffy adds.

“I’ll handle it,” Ella declares, throwing the door of the van open.

Buffy watches her steer the woman towards the interior of the Brew, although she’s clearly casting a suspicious glance back at the van as she goes.

“Was she a diversion?” Ashley asks. “Because I see a black hoodie heading inside. And a whole pack of vamps on his heels.”

“How many?” Buffy asks, calculating. 

“Six,” Ashley says. “Maybe seven.”

“I’m heading in,” Buffy announces, putting down her paper. “But Will, I need you to remind me there’s a sale at Diva Dish this week.”

She’s still about ten feet from the church door when a late arriving vamp comes out of the shadows and attacks. She dusts one of them quickly, but sees the nosy neighbor lady already reaching for her cell phone. It’s hard to be stealthy in the middle of the town square. 

She rushes into the church and sees Spike in a full on brawl with the vamp brigade. She jumps in to help. There must have been others hiding out, hoping to take them by strength of numbers. It seems like almost a dozen vampires are milling around. 

“Get the B team inside and seal the exits,” she orders.

There’s no response from her headpiece.

“Seal the exits,” she says, a bit louder. “Is this thing on?” She stakes one vamp and looks over at the door, seeing it burst open - not with Slayer reinforcements - but with Spencer and her friends, strolling into the fight like a bunch of canapes. 

She tries to keep an eye on them, while flinging a basin of Holy Water at the horde, sees them brandishing tiny crosses and trying to get to Emily. They’re brave. Really with the self-preservation instincts, but brave.

The back door opens and shuts, and the sounds of fighting from behind the altar intensify. Back up. Finally.

There’s a lot of noise outside and the garbled sound of a bull horn. The giant cross breaks loose from the altar in a whoosh of magic and crushes a vamp underneath it. He sizzles for a few seconds and then combusts. She glances at the windows. If Willow has eyes on the fight, she should know to move on to the next phase by now. Something’s not right.

She catapults over two vamps, staking them both the moment she lands behind them. The odds are worse than expected, but she can get outside and signal for Faith to swing in, for Willow to go ahead with the spell, it can still work.

She flings the front door of the church open, only to find herself in the beam of a bright spotlight and staring down the barrel of a police service revolver.

“Hands up,” Toby Cavenaugh orders. “You have the right to remain silent.”


	17. Vanderjesus

Mona is standing on the roof of the Brew, admiring the view. Faith is leaning casually against the brick ledge, staring at the bell tower of the church. Mona’s always been a sucker for a girl in leather pants. Faith’s are dark red and look absolutely _buttery_.

Her computer is set up, the hack is ready to go as soon as AD wanders into range. “Roger that, we’re in position,” she reports into her headpiece before switching the mic to radio silence. Now they wait.

She nods toward the lethal looking crossbow Faith brought up here. “Care to show me how to use this?”

Faith grins. “Some things, I don’t mind strange women touching. My weapons, though? Not so much.” She pulls a stake from her pocket and tosses it over anyway.

Mona rewards her with a big smile. “I bet you give these to all the girls.”

“Only the ones seem like they can take care of themselves.” Faith says, keeping up with the banter, although her eyes move instinctively to the figures on the ground across the street. One figure in particular. Buffy.

Mona pockets the stake and empties the contents of her stylish leather messenger bag onto the ground. She snaps three cylinders together and attaches a triggering mechanism without taking her eyes off the dark haired Slayer.

“Exes?” Mona asks, twisting a scope in place. No point in beating around the bush. “You and Buffy?”

Faith gives her a look so sharp it’s like barbed wire. She shrugs instead of answering.

“It’s okay,” Mona tells her. “I’ve been known to have a weakness for blondes, myself.”

Faith snorts, but it’s an indeterminate sound. Not quite a laugh, not quite a denial.

“Hanna,” she says. It’s not a question. “Or Alison?” That one is.

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“Yeah well,” Faith smirks. “I ain’t no lady.”

They watch in silence as the people on the ground move back and forth.

“We are exes. Ex-what, I dunno,” Faith admits. “These days we’re _friends_.” Mona can hear the air quotes around the last word.

“Friends is something.” She thinks of striding through the mall with Hanna at her side. Remembers the sick thud of Hanna’s body flying over the hood of the car. Thinks of Hanna brushing mascara on her in Radley. Because she’s Hanna. She always will be.

“Not enough, though,” Faith mutters, almost to herself. She notices Mona’s hardware. “Tranq gun?”

“Made it myself,” Mona tells her. “I’m crafty like that.” She elbows Faith in the ribs, lightly. “It’s not enough. But I did some bad things. Most days it seems like more than I deserve.”

Faith lets out a bark of laughter. “Nobody ever gets what they deserve. Good guys, bad guys, regular folks. I mean, I’ve done some bad shit, too. But I’m a White Hat now. Ain’t no higher power weighing my karma every morning at breakfast. The world don’t work like that.”

Mona doesn’t respond right away. The plan is in motion. They watch intently as the action unfolds on the ground. Everything seems to be working. The trap is baited. Someone in a black hoodie is walking swiftly towards the church, but with an honor guard of vampires. Mona counts seven, with signs of a few more going in through the east windows.

She taps her earpiece to report, but is met with nothing but white noise. She tries the hack but his phone has a mystical encryption protocol that’s not going to be breakable without a codex.

Down below, she sees Hanna and the others out of the car, running for the church.

“Something’s off,” Mona announces. There’s a flurry of movement from the police station, Toby is rushing down the stairs and into a cruiser, whipping up the lights and sirens. Oh god, he’s going to make a hash of everything. Typical Rosewood man. Instinctively, she pulls Faith down behind the ledge and out of sight.

She continues working on the hack, just in case there’s a back door or a weakness she can exploit, but it seems more futile by the minute. Beside her, Faith is still as stone, like a deer freezing in police lights.

Screams sound from the direction of the church, and Mona peers out in time to see a cloud of bats flying off into the twilight. On the street, it looks like Buffy and Toby are arguing as he handcuffs both her and Willow. Giles has left his position to try and intervene, by the looks of it, but Lorenzo seems to be on the verge of arresting him for interference.

“Well,” she says. “This doesn’t look good.”

Buffy and Giles are being hauled into a squad car just as smoke starts to billow out the church windows. Orange licks of flame are moving up the walls, fast. If any of the Liars are still up there, they have a gang of vamps between them and safety. She feels a twist of nerves in her stomach. Hanna. If the others are in danger, she’ll run right into the wall of undead predators, and she’ll do it without even thinking.

“Come on,” she tells Faith, urgently. “We have to get over there.” She grabs a grappling hook from her bag and unwinds five hundred feet of nylon rope. She ties one end of the rope to the HVAC unit of the brew, and then commandeers Faith’s crossbow to launch the hook towards the roof of the church. It lands perfectly, wedging at the base of the belltower. Above the fire line. For now.

Faith gives her a look that’s half incredulous, half impressed. Faith doesn’t waste any time arguing, though. She tests the strength of the rope, nods to herself, and then backs up to take a running leap off the roof. She lands perfectly, her feet on the rope, already two thirds of the way to the church. Faith races the rest of the distance at speed, and starts scaling the wall to the bell tower like she’s Spider Man.

Mona shakes her head. “You do it your way,” she mutters, putting on a pair of gloves and swinging out onto the rope, hanging on with her hands and legs, pulling herself along. “I’ll do it mine.”

The tranquilizer gun clunks against her back. She is _not_ going to look down. She’s not.

She gets to the church and affixes suction cups to her boots and gloves to clamber up the wall after Faith. When she gets to the window, she sees Faith fighting at least six vamps at the top of the stairs. Spencer and Emily are pressed against the back wall trying to keep away from the haze of smoke.

Mona takes quick aim at one of the vamps Faith is battling and fires off a tranquilizer dart. It hits him in the neck and he falls backwards down the stairs where he’s quickly subsumed by flames. She fires again, but her next target manages to catch the dart an inch from his jugular. The distraction costs him, however, as Faith drop kicks him into one of his friends and knocks them both down to the floor of the church, at least thirty feet below.

Spencer and Emily are frozen in place, transfixed by the scene in front of them.

“Let’s move, ladies! This is your rescue!” Mona shouts. “Don’t just stand there looking pretty!”

Spencer bites her lip, as if she’s trying to stifle a rude retort. Naturally. But she urges Emily into motion, and they get over to the window quickly enough. Spencer stares down at the drop to the roof.

“Human chain,” Mona instructs her. Spencer nods and lowers herself down, clutching Mona’s back. She locks her arms around Mona’s waist as Emily, still as lithe and athletic as ever, climbs over both of them, dropping down to the surface of the roof and then bracing Spencer as she slides the rest of the way down.

Mona shimmies down after them and considers their next step. The shingles of the roof are hot, the fire is obviously spreading. She glances down, hoping to see a fire truck with ladder at the ready. But of course there’s not one. This is Rosewood, DIY Save Your Ass Capitol of the World. She catches sight of Hanna and Aria, who must have made it out through the main doors without being arrested. Hanna is running with a can of hairspray in her hand and gesturing wildly towards the three of them on the rooftop and dragging Aria along in her wake.

“Is she hurt?” Emily asks, as even from a distance, Aria’s movements seem sluggish and stiff, especially next to the frantic blur of motion that is Hanna.

“You can check on her when we’re all on the ground,” Mona snaps. “We’ll have to climb out on the rope.”

“I’m a swimmer, not a ninja,” Emily says, her eyes wide. “I can’t make it all the way over to the Brew.”

“If one of us can make it halfway out, we can cut the rope and swing to the ground,” Spencer suggests.

“If it doesn’t swing you right into the side of the church hard enough to break bones. Or cut you to pieces as you crash through the stained glass.” _Honestly._

“So what’s the plan?” Emily asks, as the flames start licking through the roof tiles.

Mona already has her phone in her hand, typing a furious text to Hanna and Aria, telling them to untie the line on the roof of the Brew.

She sees them get the text, but Aria is standing there immobile in the middle of the street, staring up at the rope like it’s about to do tricks. Hanna is racing towards the fire escape, but before she even has a foot on the first step, a carving knife flies out the window of Ezra’s kitchen and slices the rope neatly in mid-air.

“Was that -” Spencer starts.

“Magic,” Mona confirms. “Don’t look a gift escape in the mouth, okay? Less talking, more lowering yourself to safety.” Underneath the tough tone, she’s shaken up as well. She felt the whoosh of power from all the way across the street. It’s like the scent of clove cigarettes after you’ve quit smoking, a rush that lights up all the old pathways of her hyperadrenal reality. Using magic like that, for a full year, no wonder she was nearly catatonic when she stopped cold.

She takes a deep breath and tries to center herself. Emily is nearly down the rope. Hanna and Aria are there to meet her. A vamp comes out of the shadows, but Hanna flicks a lighter in front of the hairspray to make an improvised blowtorch.

Spencer is watching with her mouth open in awe. _No one deserves anything._ She forces her voice to be perky rather than cutting. “Vampire flambé. Our girl’s always had style.”

Spencer pauses to give Mona a suspicious look, par for the course, as Emily hits the ground.

Spencer starts to descend just as Mona notices flames running towards the grappling hook. She stomps them out with her boot, but the roof itself is deteriorating to the point of structural instability. She heads back to the window to give Faith the signal that the rescue mission is complete.

Faith is a gorgeous whirl of fists and roundhouse kicks. “Masks?” she’s saying, to one of the vamps whose face is practically melting off. “Vamps in this town got no pride in their identity? Let your freak flag fly, man.” She kicks him into the bell and the small space vibrates with sound as the unknown vamp hits the clapper.

The fire department must finally be on scene, as jets of water are streaming in. Smoke and steam hang like a hazy fog, thick in the air. She leaps into the melee, casually knocking over Darren Wilden with the butt of her tranq gun.

“Faith,” she shouts. “We’re good to go!”

Faith nods and stakes the vamp she’s fighting. He explodes into a cloud of dust. Mona kicks Wilden in the face as he reaches for his service weapon.

Faith steps on his wrist, hard enough that Mona hears the bones crack. She makes a quick appraising glance at the state of the fire outside and in, then throws an arm around Mona’s waist and grabs the center bell rope to swing them both down to the lower level. It’s electrifying, in a rather swashbuckling fashion. Swoon-worthy, really.

The moment they hit the ground, the sounds of more fighting reach their ears. There isn’t as thick down here, but it’s still not exactly the picture of visibility. Mona curses herself for not bringing night vision goggles.

“Lucky you figured those girls might need a rescue,” Faith shouts, as three vamps triangulate around them. Faith rips off a piece of one of the pews and swings it like a baseball bat, hitting one of them upside the head. He crumples to his knees and Faith stakes him.

“Once you’ve known them as long as I have - just assume they’ll always need a rescue. You’ll never be disappointed.”

Mona tranqs another one of their attackers, who falls to the ground unconscious.

“You got some moves,” Faith says. “Still got that stake?”

“Sure do,” Mona replies, brandishing it with a little flourish.

Faith punches the third vamp so hard that he staggers backward into the stake and poofs. Which, _wow_. Talk about a rush. Every nerve in her body feels like it’s awash in adrenaline. Tingly with anticipation, and _want._

Faith is standing barely twelve inches away, her hair a mess and her breathing heavy. Mona locks eyes with her and takes a step forward. Faith’s lipstick is a dark burgundy, the color of a really rich wine, the plush velvet drapes of a stage. The sounds of the fight have died down around them, and the smoke is just present enough to make it feel like they’re walled off from the rest of the world. Faith leans towards her, actually has a hand on Mona’s ass, when their phones go off in unison, an electronic pinging that breaks the mood completely.

Mona has never hated ‘A' more.

_New players don’t change the game. The more coffins the merrier, Bitches._


	18. Plantermath

Willow is twisting around in the back seat of the patrol car, watching smoke billowing out the windows of the church.  It’s a good thing they didn’t seal the exits, but without any visibility on the fight raging inside, there’s not much she can do in terms of magical assistance.

She could throw a rock in front of the tire of the car, force Toby to pull over and try to transport them all away, but Buffy wouldn’t like it.  And, it would be wrong.  Just because you can do something, like maybe use mindspeak to communicate with Spike or one of the girls inside the church, doesn’t mean you should just barge into people’s brains without invitation.  Like, Buffy could kick out the barrier between the front and back seats of the car and overpower Toby.  Willow could transport the police car to the world without shrimp, dump Toby there, and have them back in front of the church in about two seconds.  But although righteous indignation is one of Buffy’s most adorable moods, it’s way cuter when the indignation isn’t directed at her.

She sighs with relief at the sight of Faith rushing across a makeshift tightrope.  And Ashley’s team is already inside.  Trust the team.  Work the mission.  She closes her eyes and says a quick ask to Gaia to watch over them all.

When she opens them, she sees Buffy’s face, her mouth a small line of impatience.  Willow reaches over and taps her gently on the knee.  Buffy’s body unclenches a little, and she gives Willow a quick look.  The kind that says, we’ve been in worse spots than this.  Small town.  Small minded police.  

They’re being hustled into the police station as fire engines roar past heading for the church.  

Toby stops the car in front of the station.  “Listen,” he says, “I know you think that you’re helping here, but you don’t know this town like I do.  Like attracts like.  The more magic you use, the more Slaying you do, the more crazy stuff is going to crawl out of the woodwork to challenge you.”

Giles sputters with indignation.  “Young man, that is some of the fuzziest logic I have ever heard.”

“And you can’t arrest us for using magic,” Buffy points out.  “You’re out of your league here, you have no idea what you’re doing.”

“We had a complaint,” Toby tells her.  “An aggravated assault on the square, suspect a tiny blonde martial artist.  And the caller mentioned suspicious activity in a nearby van, possibly drug related.”

“That was sage,” Willow tells him calmly.  “Are you planning on arresting the whole town come Thanksgiving?”

“I’m giving you a chance here,” he says, clearly impressed with his own generosity.  “Get out of town.  Leave Spencer and the other girls alone.”

All three of their phones chime in unison.  Buffy looks down and scoffs at the threatening text.  

“No offense,” Buffy says, refocusing on Toby.  “But we’ve fought a lot of things even scarier than your fragile male ego.”

Toby’s jaw locks in a mulish expression.  He doesn’t say anything else as he escorts them inside and ushers them into a holding cell.

“Not spectacularly competent,” Buffy observes, as he walks away without confiscating their phones.

“I’ll call Ashley,” Willow tells her.  “You make the call to spring us out of the pokey.”

\-----

Thirty minutes later, they’re sitting in front of a stern looking female detective who walked into the room with a chip the size of Jupiter on her shoulder.

“It seems you’ve been in town less than two weeks, and already you’ve fallen in with the criminal element,” she says, by way of a greeting.  “Disorderly conduct.  Aggravated assault.  Possible drug trafficking.  And now arson.”

“There was no arson,” Buffy promises.  “The church was probably full of mice.  Who were smoking.”

The detective gives her a witheringly unamused look.  

A burly officer with friendly eyes knocks on the door.  “Lieutenant Tanner, there’s a call for you.”

“I’m in the middle of an interrogation here, Barry.”

“This one you’ll want to take.”

\-----

“That’s not possible,” Toby’s voice declares, drifting in from the hallway.

“You think I’m happy about this?  I’m looking at a burned out hulk on the town square and I’d love nothing more than to hold one of these weirdos responsible.  But orders are orders.”

“That order couldn’t have come from -”

“I know who I spoke with, Cavenaugh.  He had all the protocols.  It’s a military situation.  If we don’t want them rolling in with tanks, we let them go and let Miss Summers do her thing.”

“Hear that?” Willow says, running her thumb gently over the back of Buffy’s hand.  “We’ll be back in our run down motel room in no time!”

“The Initiative comes through once again,” Giles says with a smile.  “I must say, I’m quite glad Ella won’t have to bail us out.”

Toby’s angry voice is still echoing down the hallway as Tanner strides back into the room.

“It’s really not been a pleasure,” Buffy tells her.  “I’m thinking one star Yelp review.”

“It seems you have some big guns in your corner,” Tanner says sourly.  She looks like she could spit nails.  “You’re all free to go.”


	19. Better Lock It In Your Pocket

“So,” Spencer says from her spot on one of Lucas’s chairs. “We’re all in agreement? Mary Drake?”

Hanna nods but Alison makes a noise of displeasure from the kitchen. They’ve been at this for the last two days, since the night Spencer almost died in the bell tower. For the second time. But they’re still no closer to consensus.

“What about Jenna?” Emily posits. “Those vampires had a very henchmen-y vibe, and we know Jenna loves a good henchman. Or henchwoman.”

Spencer sighs and runs a hand through her hair. She’s so tired of weighing the varying possibilities, but in truth there’s a certain comfort to being here at the loft with just her friends. She can’t recall the last time it was just the five of them in one place.

“A.D. seemed like a guy to me,” Alison says, sitting down on the couch a little closer than necessary to Emily.

“You saw A.D.?” Spencer asks with a wrinkled brow.

Alison bites her lip, her eyes shifting briefly to Emily’s. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “Just a quick glance.”

“You still haven’t explained what was going on with you and my mom,” Hanna points out. Spencer nods approvingly in her direction.

“So what guy could be working with Jenna?” Emily cuts in. Alison flashes her a grateful-looking smile.

“Noel Kahn,” Aria announces from the other end of the couch.

Everyone whips around to face her. Aria’s been consistently quiet these last few days, her demeanor oscillating between strangely focused and completely out of it. Well, it seems she’s had _something_ on her mind.

“What?” Hanna asks.

“Noel Kahn,” Aria continues flatly. “I’ve seen them around town together.”

“Where?” Spencer asks, incredulous.

Aria shrugs. “Around.” She isn’t giving an inch. They are _so_ talking about this later.

“God, I haven’t seen Noel in forever,” Alison comments. “You really think he and Jenna would have it out for us after all these years?”

“I don’t,” Spencer says. “I’m telling you guys: it’s Mary Drake. I mean, there was a bat attack! Hello? Bats, vampires?” She waves her arms around; it seems so obvious. “That’s the exact kind of winking move A loves to pull.”

“My money’s on Jenna and Noel,” Emily announces. “The two of them together is nothing but trouble. And Spike seems to think Jenna’s up to some pretty dangerous magic stuff.”

“Spike doesn’t know Jenna or Noel,” Aria states. 

“And you do?” Alison retorts.

Aria scowls. “Not exactly, but I’m just saying. Everyone acts like magic is this big scary thing, but it isn’t. It has the ability to really help people. To save them, even!”

“You think Noel and Jenna are using magic to cure cancer?” Spencer asks.

“No,” Aria says. “But I think there could be more to the story.”

Hanna’s eyes go wide then, her expression blank and unmoving. Spencer’s seen that look on her before. She reaches forward to take Hanna’s hand, but Hanna pulls away, mumbling, “I’ll be right back.” With that, she gets up and heads toward the bedroom.

Spencer takes a quick glance around the group before following her. She raps lightly on the bedroom door. “Come in,” Hanna says, sounding vaguely nauseous.

Spencer does so. Hanna is seated on the bed, her head down and her hands on her thighs. She looks freaked out. And also very pretty, but that’s beside the point.

Spencer walks over to the dresser and leans against it, crossing her arms and facing Hanna. “Did you have another one?” she asks quietly. “Another vision?”

Hanna looks up at her sharply and nods.

“What are they like?” Spencer asks. She’s been dying to know, but she’s wanted to give Hanna space to process what’s going on.

Hanna breathes in and out a few times, and when she speaks her voice is a bit tremulous. “It’s sort of like I’m watching an old black and white movie, but I started right in the middle. Sometimes they’re really short, but sometimes they go on for a while.”

“What do you think they are?” Spencer asks. “Warning signs?”

“I don’t know,” Hanna replies. “They feel…important somehow. What was that word Buffy used? Prophetic. I can’t explain it, but I just know I have to pay attention to them.”

“When do you get them?”

“Sometimes they just come out of nowhere. But sometimes if I’m touching a person, it kind of triggers it. And it’s like see a flash of their future. Or something they want.”

“Do you remember when they started?”

Hanna shakes her head. “No. But after Buffy was talking about the dreams, it kind of made me realize…”

“…that there may be some legitimacy to them,” Spencer pieces together.

“Yeah.”

Spencer uncrosses her arms. She can sense Hanna’s anxiety and she desperately wants to reassure her, but all the same Spencer finds herself deeply curious. She steps forward, sitting down next to Hanna on the bed.

“Han, have you had visions about us?” Spencer asks softly.

Hanna hesitates, not looking at Spencer, before nodding. 

“Anything I should know about?” Spencer wonders.

“Yeah, actually,” Hanna replies. 

Spencer tenses, not even sure what she’s preparing herself for. The things Hanna could have discovered about her, just through an innocent hug or arm squeeze. No wonder she hasn’t wanted to be touched recently.

But when Hanna speaks next, it isn’t what Spencer expects: “I’m worried about Aria.”

\-----

A few hours later Alison and Emily have disappeared for god knows what reason, and Spencer is helping Hanna put together some dinner for the remaining three of them. Spencer is trying to act normal around them both, but it’s hard to do. The knowledge of Hanna’s weird, possibly Aria-related vision combined with Aria’s general manner this past week has left Spencer spun up, concerned for her friend but unsure of what to do about it.

She’s mentally preparing her “you can tell us anything” speech when their phones beep in unison. 

Spencer sucks in a deep breath. It’s probably just a group text from Emily, she tells herself, knowing in her gut that it isn’t. She grabs her phone and automatically walks over to the couch where Aria’s sitting, as Hanna does the same. 

Aria reads aloud, “ _Looks like Ali’s up to her old tricks. Don’t say I never gave you bitches anything._ ”

“ _A.D._ ,” Hanna and Spencer say together. Beneath the text is a video attachment. Aria opens it and Spencer and Hanna peer over her shoulder. 

The video is dark and from slightly far away, but it’s clearly of Emily and Alison, from tonight, based on their outfits. They look to be in the woods somewhere, likely near town. 

“I don’t understand why you can’t tell them!” Emily is saying, obviously frustrated.

“Because _they_ wouldn’t understand!” Alison replies. 

“Why do you say that?” Emily asks. “ _I_ do!”

“I trust you, Em. But they can’t know.”

The video cuts off there, leaving Spencer, Hanna and Aria to ponder it. “Up to her old tricks indeed,” Hanna comments.

“We’re following her,” Spencer announces, already slipping her shoes on.

“We don’t even know where they are!” Aria points out.

“We know the woods in Rosewood,” Spencer states definitely. “And we’re going to find her. We’ll either follow her or confront her, depends on what we find. But we are _not_ letting her pull Emily into something dangerous.” 

She looks at Hanna and Aria, resolute. “Who’s coming with me?”

\-----

 _Both of them_ , of course, is the answer. 

A little while later Spencer is driving toward the woods, Hanna riding shotgun and Aria in the backseat. Spencer keeps glancing back at Aria, and after several long minutes of silence she figures now is as good a time as any to start the intervention.

“So,” she begins as casually as she can. “How’s Ezra?”

Aria’s eyes flash up to meet hers as she responds, “Fine.”

“How long is he staying in New York?” Spencer asks.

“He doesn’t know. His brother is really going through a rough time.”

“You’ve hardly mentioned him,” Hanna comments.

Aria shrugs. “He’s been away. I’ve been distracted.”

“It’s just, you normally talk about him a lot,” Hanna says. “Like, _a lot_ a lot.”

Aria leans back against her seat. Spencer thinks she catches her fiddling with her engagement ring. “Ezra and I are fine,” she says very deliberately. “And maybe you two should get boyfriends of your own so you can stop worrying about mine!”

Spencer feels her blood run cold. She isn’t particularly hurt, but she knows that when Aria lashes out like that, something is really wrong. Like, Byron-might-have-killed-Alison levels of wrong.

“We care about you, Aria,” Hanna murmurs. “That’s why we’re asking.”

The car gets quiet then. Spencer guesses that Aria is stewing over an apology, because she knows Aria. They’re getting closer to the woods now, the lights of the town starting to fade behind them. 

“Guys,” Aria finally says. “I’m—”

“Hey!” Hanna cuts in animatedly. “Is that Melissa?”

Spencer looks to where Hanna’s pointing, and sure enough, up near the tree line, is her sister, wearing a peacoat and looking serious. “Who’s she talking to?” Spencer mutters, half to herself. She slows the car down just a little, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man and woman Melissa looks to be very engaged in conversation with. Just when Spencer thinks she’s going to have to keep driving for fear of being seen, the man turns slightly. Spencer still can’t see the woman, can only catch a glimpse of blonde hair that looks a lot like Alison’s. But the man’s face is clear as day.

“Oh my god!” Hanna yelps. 

Spencer understands her surprise; it’s none other than Officer Garrett Reynolds.


	20. Once Bitten

She shouldn’t be patrolling.  She should be sitting at home, relaxing with a glass of Pinot Grigio.  

Back in the day, she thought she’d be lucky to make it to twenty.  She was a few days shy of twenty-two the night her heart stopped.  She was dead less than a minute before it started back up.  Someone saw the fight and called the police.  That’s Oklahoma for you.  She saw the medics arriving right before she blacked out.

When she came to in the hospital, it was to the news that she was gone long enough for another Slayer to be called.  And to an ultrasound image propped up on the night stand.  She was eight weeks pregnant.  Retiring was an easy call.  She’d put in her time.  Regina wanted to watch her grandchild grow up.

Now Hanna’s twenty-three.  It seems impossible that she’s older now than Ashley was when she was born.  And yet, here they are.  And it’s not like she didn’t know what she was getting into, moving them on top of a Hellmouth.  It was a guilty impulse, a way to make some kind of amends for walking away, keep a quiet sort of eye on things.

Which leads her out into the streets on this cold autumn night, hunting down another one of her past mistakes.  She saw him, in the church.  Darren Wilden is still out there, now added vamp bloodlust.

Her fist clenches around the stake in her purse.  Her reflexes might be a little slower, there might be some crow’s feet around her eyes that the make up doesn’t _quite_  conceal, but this is personal.  

She thinks of him when he was human.  A grown man with the instincts of a playground bully, a flawless radar for weaknesses to exploit.  If nothing else, wandering the streets alone and looking defenseless, maybe she can draw him out.  Keep him as far away from Hanna as possible.      

She’s not sure if he’s already watching her or not.  She decides to walk through the woods, head for that make out point the teenagers always go to.  She’d been there with him a time or two.  Maybe it’s because her teenage years were mostly spent knee deep in wheat demon slime, but she’s always kind of liked sneaking off to the kissing rock for a little private PDA.  

Maybe she should have called Buffy or Faith, told them about her plan.  But having them with her would make him less likely to show himself.  He’s the kind of guy who only picks fights he knows he can win.  

She gets to the clearing and sits down on the rock.  

“Hello lover.”  His voice makes all the hairs on the back of neck stand up, makes her skin crawl.

“They say absence makes the heart grow fonder,” she tells him.  “But in your case, my heart grew very fond of your absence.”

He moves closer.  “I never did like it when you talk.”

She tosses her hair.  “The feeling is mutual.”  

Then she charges him.

He dodges her first punch and kicks her legs out from under her.  He lunges to try and pin her arms on the ground, but she knees him in the groin and lands a strike to his face that hopefully breaks his nose.

“You were always a wildcat,” he mutters, thickly, wiping the blood from his lip.

She gets back on her feet and moves towards him with the stake in her hand.  He laughs.

“I’d like to see you try.”

She feints left and when he tries to grab her, she uses his own momentum to flip him, slamming him to the ground with a satisfying thud.  He doesn’t stay down.

He leaps back up and goes for his gun.

Cheater.

She kicks his wrist and moves closer to try and wrench the revolver out of his shoulder holster.

She realizes a second too late that this was exactly what he wanted.  His lips are on her neck, and then his teeth are sinking in, the bite stinging as her blood pours into his mouth.  She still has the stake in her hand, and she jams it into his torso as hard as she can.

It sinks into his chest.  Misses the heart by a good two inches.  Her vision is starting to get fuzzy when another figure swoops into the frame.  A black clad blur yanks Wilden off of her with a feral growl.  There’s the sound of punches being exchanged, a few yelps from Wilden.

She tries to push herself up off the ground, but her arms are too rubbery.  She's lost too much blood.

She hears a familiar voice, though she can’t be sure if it’s really ringing through the night air or calling out from the recesses of her memory.  “ _Mine_.”

They’re distracted.  She could crawl away, but her limbs aren’t cooperating.  It’s quiet again.  The fight must be over.  She hears an owl hooting.  It sounds so peaceful.

And then cold hands are running over her neck, feeling for a pulse.  A wonderfully soft Hermes scarf is being pressed hard against the wound.  She’s being lifted up and laid over the rock, her arm arranged so that gravity keeps it wedged on top of the cloth, already sticky with blood.

Fingers trail over her face as her eyelids droop.

She hears footsteps running away.

She’s alone.

She’s failed.  Hanna.   

Time seems to slow down, turn in on itself.  She can hear the wind touching all the leaves at once.  The owl hoots again.  Branches snap.  Woodland creatures scurry away.

She’s so dizzy.  But she needs to open her eyes.  Call out.  Someone is coming.

 _Hanna_.

Her eyelids flutter open, and Hanna is there, she’s running towards her with Emily close behind.  

She blinks.  

It’s not Hanna.  It’s Alison.

She closes her eyes and everything goes black.


	21. Becoming

They’re halfway through the woods, flashlights out and stakes in their pockets, when Emily brings it up again.

“They know about Slayers now, Ali!” she insists, her voice getting that self-righteous quality to it that Alison hates being on the receiving end of.

“They know about Buffy. They know about Faith. That’s different from knowing about _me_ ,” Alison points out, ears primed for the sound of crunching leaves behind them.

Emily sighs and keeps walking, though even in her annoyance she still raises a tree branch out of Alison’s way. “Thanks, babe,” Alison murmurs, trying to catch Emily’s hand.

Emily doesn’t bite; she continues forward. “I’m just tired of keeping secrets.”

“I know,” Alison says. If she had a dollar for every secret she’s asked Emily to keep over the years, the two of them could finally afford that trip to Paris. “I don’t like it either.”

“I guess I just…I don’t understand,” Emily says, stopping on the makeshift path and turning around. “I don’t understand why you can’t tell them!”

“Because _they_ wouldn’t understand!” Alison replies. The words taste familiar in her mouth; she remembers a very similar conversation years ago, when she’d just recently revealed herself to still be alive. God, the feel of Emily’s arms around her that night. Nothing had ever been so comforting.

“Why do you say that?” Emily asks, seeming genuinely curious. “ _I_ do!”

“I trust you, Em,” Alison says firmly. “But they can’t know.” She sighs, running a hand through her hair. “Telling them would put even bigger targets on their backs. My job is to protect you all from danger, not bring it closer to you. Tell me, honestly, what do you think Spencer would do if she knew? She’d want to come with, she’d want to become involved. And I can’t do that to her.”

“Why’d you tell me then?”

Alison smiles crookedly. “I tried not to. Just like I tried not to love you. Believe me, if I could keep you away from all of this—if I could keep you away from _me_ —I absolutely would, one hundred percent.”

Emily shakes her head. “Don’t say that.”

“I mean it,” Alison tells her, stepping forward. Emily lets her hand be held this time. “But you’ve always been my weakness, Em. I got so tired of fighting the way I felt about you.”

“I know,” Emily replies softly. “I got tired of fighting it too.” She sighs, tugging her hand away. “But it’s one thing to keep the fact that you’re a Slayer from our friends. It’s another to keep the fact that Ashley is a Slayer from Hanna!”

“You didn’t call her Mrs. Marin that time,” Alison comments, smirking. “That’s progress.”

“I’m serious!” Emily says with a scowl. “I need to talk to her about this. I can’t believe she hasn’t told Hanna, after all these years.”

“It’s the same reason I didn’t tell you for a long time: love.”

Emily looks like she’s fighting a smile, but she turns away before Alison can confirm that. Though not before holding a hand out behind her for Alison to take. 

Alison can appreciate Emily’s frustrations, but she understands Ashley’s decision whole-heartedly. And the truth of the matter is that Emily herself isn’t a Slayer; she can never fully know how lonely it is.

It was a lot lonelier two years ago, when Alison finally told Emily the truth. It wasn’t long after Wayne had died, after Alison had spent a week in California with Emily, trying to make her feel better in any way she could. Which, ultimately, included a lot of drinking and a fair amount of sex. 

But then Alison returned to Rosewood, feeling more isolated than ever from her friends, and Emily stayed in California, her life in shambles. And one night, after a particularly harrowing night of slaying which found Alison with several cracked ribs and a fractured wrist, she called Emily, who took the first flight back to Pennsylvania. Through tears, Alison told her everything, and the next few days confirmed two truths Alison had both prayed for and feared: one, Emily wasn’t scared away, and in fact wanted to help; and two, Alison was still hopelessly, irrevocably in love with her.

They spent two weeks together, living in the DiLaurentis house almost like a real couple. And Alison found that being around Emily was like magic. With every kiss, she felt a little stronger, and within a few days her body was almost back to normal, as though her broken bones had just clicked back into place. Alison had lived a lifetime of unbelievable events, but the idea that love could literally heal her seemed pretty out there.

Yet it didn’t solve everything. Alison’s love for Emily couldn’t entirely change their circumstance. Emily was still deeply in the throes of grief, and when she returned to California nothing quite seemed to work out for her. And Alison was working tirelessly for Charlotte’s release, while also trying to find her mother—or at least, the undead version she knew was out there. 

Romancing Elliott Rollins, or Archer Dunhill, seemed like the logical step to take: he was Charlotte’s doctor and a vampire with some connection to their mother. Charlotte was in on it too, of course, wanting exactly what Alison wanted, to get out and finally have a family. But the knowledge that Jessica had become Mary and was actually working with that monster…well, it wasn’t what Alison was expecting, to say the least. And clearly it wasn’t what Charlotte was expecting either.

Nothing happened the way it was supposed to, but the one upside is that Emily actually came back to Rosewood. She’s here, in the flesh, for Alison to kiss and touch and hold. For the longest time, that seemed unfathomable.

So even as Emily crossly stomps through the woods while holding her hand, Alison still feels pretty lucky. Sure, there are a million things to argue about, but Alison knows that she isn’t letting Emily go again. She’d be lying if she said there wasn’t a little thrill in their relationship being a secret, but if starting to spill truths is the way to keep Emily around, she just might consider it.

A blur of movement in front of them breaks Alison out of her reverie. There’s someone behind one of the trees, heading right toward them. Alison lowers her flashlight and reaches for her stake, motioning for Emily to do the same. The figure comes closer, and Alison catches a familiar whiff of perfume before she registers who it is.

Mary Drake grabs Emily’s wrist with lightning speed and actually manages to pick her up before darting back into the darkness.

“Emily!” Alison yells, running as fast as she can behind them. She holds her flashlight out firmly in front of her, the little beam of light bobbing ahead and just barely catching the heel of Mary’s boot. Alison’s gaining on them, she’s so close. Emily is calling her name, but Alison can hear that she’s putting up a fight. That’s her girl.

Just when Alison thinks she might be close enough to lunge at Mary, Emily is being dropped to her feet right in front of her. They’re in a clearing. 

Not just any clearing. They’re at the Kissing Rock.

“What the hell—” Alison starts, but Mary is already gone in a flash, her dark clothing and hair melding back into the thick trees behind them.

“Not exactly how I imagined bringing you here,” Alison mutters, before something catches her eye. “Oh my god.”

It’s Ashley Marin, sprawled out on the rock. In really bad shape. Alison and Emily rush closer, peering over the body.

Alison shakes her head. It’s _not_ a body. This is Ashley. The closest thing Alison’s had to a mother in years.

She’s laying with her back against the rock, her arm pressing Mary’s Hermes scarf against a gruesome wound at her neck. There’s so much blood, the silk of the scarf looking more red than blue at this point. Her eyes are closed and she appears pretty much deceased, but when Alison moves close she can hear breath, slow and rattly, but there. 

She shouldn’t have been out here alone, Alison knows. Which means that she probably had a good reason to be.

Emily kneels down beside the rock. “What do we do?” Alison asks, willing the lump in her throat to go away. Crying will get them nowhere right now. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

Emily blinks rapidly, pressing her hands to Ashley’s abdomen. “No time,” she murmurs. “She’ll bleed out before they get here.” She’s studying Ashley very intently, as though she expects the wound to announce its own cure. Gingerly, she pulls back the scarf a fraction of an inch. “It’s a bite.”

Alison nods. She knew that, but it doesn’t make the chill that goes through her body any less intense. This is what it always comes down to for a Slayer, right? All that training and fighting, the sacrifice and loneliness, to bleed out on a rock because a vampire happened to catch your neck at the right angle.

Emily breathes in through her mouth and exhales slowly. “I—I think I can help her.”

“What?” Alison whispers.

Emily closes her eyes, placing a palm against Ashley’s forehead. She makes a low noise in her throat, not quite a hum.

“Em?”

“Do you trust me?” Emily asks, opening her eyes.

“Of course,” Alison replies. Trusting Emily has never been the problem.

“Then let me try this, okay?”

Alison breathes in shakily. She thinks about her broken ribs, about those two weeks spent with Emily. Even taking into consideration the speed at which a Slayer could heal, it had seemed almost impossible. Maybe it wasn’t just love. Maybe it was something else.

“Okay,” she says. “What do you need?”

“Take my hand,” Emily instructs. “I have a feeling this is going to use a lot of my strength and I just need you to—”

“Hey,” Alison murmurs. “I’ve got so much strength, I’m giving it away.” She nods at Emily, trying to force a smile. “I’m not sure what you’re doing, but I believe in you.”

Emily shifts her weight a little. The scarf on Ashley’s neck appears to have at least slowed the bleeding, and her breath hasn’t gotten any quieter. Those seem like good signs. Emily places one hand on top of the scarf and sets their linked hands over Ashley’s abdomen.

“Close your eyes,” Emily whispers. Alison does so. A vague part of her mind is still in patrol mode, her ears straining to hear more coming danger. But she works to be present, to listen to the sound of Emily’s deep breathing and trust that it can heal the woman in front of them.

Alison doesn’t know how long she’s had her eyes closed. She was counting Emily’s breaths, but she lost track when a twig snapped behind them. But suddenly a warmth starts to spill into her palm, the one holding Emily’s, almost like she’s holding her hand near a fireplace. 

“Can I open my eyes?” Alison whispers.

“I think so,” Emily murmurs. She’s sweating bullets, Alison sees when she opens her eyes, and the hand over Ashley’s neck is trembling a little. There’s a slightly yellowish glow to Ashley’s neck, and Alison’s pretty certain the bleeding has stopped or at least slowed way down.

Then suddenly, Ashley’s eyes open.

“Oh my god,” Emily breathes. It’s then that Alison notices the tears on her cheeks. Ashley blinks a few times, then lifts a hand to weakly pull away Emily’s own hand along with the scarf. Her neck is still sticky with blood, but the wound appears to have closed up, as though it’s a week or so into the healing process.

“Ashley,” Emily says tearfully. “You’re alive.”

“I am,” Ashley rasps, her voice thin. “Can you help me up?”

Emily and Alison each offer her a hand, and Ashley sits hunched on the rock for a few moments, leaning heavily into Alison’s side. “You saved me,” Ashley says wondrously to Emily. “How’d you do that?”

Emily wipes at her eyes. “I’m not sure.”

“Have you done that before?” Alison asks, feeling a little dizzy from what just happened.

Emily shakes her head. “I guess you two aren’t the only ones with special skills.”

Ashley twists her head to give Alison a concerned look. “She knows,” Alison offers simply.

“Does Hanna?” Ashley asks.

“No,” Emily replies. “But she needs to. Soon.”

Ashley nods tiredly, closing her eyes. Despite the events of the evening, Alison feels oddly cocooned here at the rock. In fact, she can’t recall a time she felt so safe in these woods.

“I know,” Ashley says. “The truth always comes out.”


	22. That Vision Thing

Hanna throws her keys down on the counter and pours herself a drink.  God, what a night.  Aria’s being super weird.  Ali might be up to something.  Melissa’s acting shady as fuck.  Just another Tuesday night in Rosewood except for how _vampires are real now._   

She flops onto the sofa.  Emily isn’t home.  She could have invited Spencer up, so they could talk about Aria.  Or so she could keep noticing all the Spencery things that are driving her crazy lately.  And not in the old working SAT words into conversation way.  No.  This is the new wanting to sweep those bangs to the side with her fingertips way.  The wondering what shade of lipstick that is and also what it tastes like kind of way.  

Stupid visions.  

Maybe Emily will be back soon.  She can wait up.  Find out what exactly is going on with Alison.

Emily won’t be able to hold out on her.

_The street is black and white.  Like good guys and bad guys, easily divisible, except when it the light shifts and it’s all blood and grime and shades of gray._

_The landscape is not familiar.  Warehouses.  Nothing moving but the rats._

_A voice comes from a doorway nearby._

_“Hey Doll.”  It’s Mona Vanderwaal in a lacy chiffon number.  It looks like she was poured into it._

_“You live here?” Hanna asks._

_“Empty spaces always feel like home.”  Mona brings an ivory tipped cigarette holder to her mouth and takes a puff, blows a smoke ring in Hanna’s direction.  She’s the kind of girl who’s better than she should be, at least at blowing smoke._

_She steps out of the shadows, and Hanna can see she’s wearing a mask.  A mask of Spencer Hastings’ face._

_“You know you wanna kiss me,” Mona says, as she curves Spencer’s lips into a wicked smile._

_“Whatcha makin’ a pass at me for?  I thought you had a new honey now.  Miss Tall, Dark, and Deadly.”_

_Just like that, Faith appears with her back towards them.  She’s wearing a pin striped suit and firing a tommy gun full of wooden bullets at a picture of a vampire in a shooting gallery.  Buffy is next to her, dressed the same, but her suit is tailored, feminine.  It cinches at the waist to accentuate her curves.  There are two other broads with them.  Faceless as the cold muzzle of a revolver pressed against the small of your back.  All four of them have snazzy white hats with crosses cut into the back._

_“Who’s that?” she asks Mona._

_“Anyone could be anyone.  You could have been Alison.  I could have been Spencer.  You, baby, ya could have been in pictures.”_

_They stride down the street together, their heels clacking in unison on the pavement.  It looks wet, even when it’s not.  That’s Rosewood._

_And then she’s in the woods and Mona is gone and the tree branches seem like they’re reaching out, like they want to grab her and take her out for a spin._

_There’s a voice calling her name._

_Hanna!_

_Fog blankets the ground.  Covers up a multitude of sins.  She breaks into a run._

_She runs like her future is a phone call already on the seventh ring._

_She might still make it.  Only to have the line could go dead in her hand._

_Hanna!_

_She gets to a clearing and the fog swirls away, like it knows something she doesn’t._

_Like it’s afraid._

_There’s a broad in a red dress - the only color in the joint, red as blood - and she’s draped over a rock like a puppet with cut strings.  Dead, or on her way there._

_Her eyes flicker open._

_Hanna._

_She feels her heart drop inside her chest._

_It’s her mom._

_Her feet won’t move.  Neither will her eyes.  She can’t look away._

_But then a gangster and her moll come bursting onto the scene.  The dame is wearing a white nurse’s outfit.  She has legs that go on for miles and Emily’s face.  The gangster has trouble written all over her.  Always has.  Trouble is Alison’s middle name._

_She’s carrying a tommy gun like the one Faith was shooting.  Her fedora is white.  Snappy.  Cross in the back._

_They’re helping.  The dress goes from red to white.  Her mom sits up, and there’s a glow around her body._

_Hanna!_

_Her mom takes Alison’s hat and puts it on her own head.  It’s the white hat with the cross on the back.  The same one that Faith and Buffy and the faceless Slayers were wearing._  

Emily is shaking her shoulder gently, calling her name in a concerned tone.  Her eyebrows are scrunched together with worry as Hanna’s eyes open, as she comes out of the vision and refocuses on the metal duct work of the loft, the cushions of the couch pressing against her back.  

Emily’s hand is on her arm.

The room feels like a spinning top, the colors shifting to black and white.  A ring flips through the air like a tossed coin as the sidewalk opens.  Emily in a nurse’s outfit rushes towards her mother at the Kissing Rock.  Hanna can feel the terror flooding her veins.  She’s not moving.  There’s so much blood.

“Hanna,” Emily says, her voice sounding like they’re under water.  “Are you okay?”

Hanna jerks her arm away, breaking contact.  The room settles around her again as she takes a shuddering breath.

“Is my mom okay?” she asks, urgently.  “Did you and Ali get there in time?”

Emily looks startled by the question, but she doesn’t hesitate.  “She’s fine.  She’s resting.  Ella and Mr. Giles are with her."  

So it was real.  It happened.  Emily gets up and pours her a glass of water.  Hanna makes no move to take it from her.  Emily sets it awkwardly on the table, with a clunk.  

“Was it a bite?” Hanna asks, with a note of challenge in her voice.

Emily nods.

“Was she on _patrol_?  Alone in the middle of the fucking woods?”

Her best friend refuses to meet her eyes.  She’s staring at her own hands.  Coward.

“You should ask her,” Emily says quietly.  

Hanna stares at her.  The silence in the loft is deafening.

“She’s a Slayer,” Hanna says, keeping a close eye on Emily’s face.  “Like Alison.”

Emily bites her bottom lip.

Hanna jumps up so fast she knocks the coffee table over.  Glass shards skitter across the floor as water soaks the hardwood.

“ _You knew_ ,” Hanna says, her voice crackling with fury.  “You knew and you didn’t even tell me!”


	23. Out of Mind

Emily unlocks the door to the loft quietly. It’s late. Hanna might be asleep already.

Ali is spending the night at Mrs. Marin’s, sleeping in Hanna’s old room while Mr. Giles and Ella Montgomery sip tea and work some kind of vampire disinviting spell.

She’s almost glad to be spending the night alone. As much as she loves Ali, as incredible as it is to finally be with her, she needs a little time to process. Her fingertips are still tingly from the surge of energy that she could feel going out of her, her head is buzzing with the instinct that somehow told her what she could do, that she could heal Ashley Marin.

A snuffling noise comes from the direction of the couch. Hanna’s sound asleep, but something seems off. She’s pale and thrashing around. A nightmare. They all have them. The Dollhouse was bad enough, but now with vampires and demons? Spencer only sleeps five hours a night, sets her alarm to go off every 45 minutes so she never falls into REM state.

She walks over to Hanna and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Hanna,” she says.

Hanna is sweating, she sees, and her breathing is labored, like she’s running a marathon. “Hanna!” she says, a bit louder.

She shakes Hanna’s shoulder gently, calling her name again.

Hanna’s eyes flutter open, but they’re unfocused, like she’s still in the throes of whatever dream she was having. Emily squeezes her shoulder reassuringly.

Hanna glances around wildly, focusing on Emily’s hand. She looks like she’s struggling to sit up but then falls back on the couch, her eyes rolling almost back into her head.

“Hanna,” Emily cries, getting scared. “Are you okay?”

Hanna jerks away from her and seems to gain control of herself.

“Is my mom okay?” she asks, desperately. “Did you and Ali get there in time?”

She has no idea how Hanna even knows her mom was hurt, but she takes one look at the fear on Hanna’s face and remembers how she felt when she got the call about her dad.

“She’s fine. She’s resting. Ella and Mr. Giles are with her.”

Hanna still seems shaky and a little dazed. Emily goes to get her a glass of water, but Hanna is staring off into an invisible middle distance and makes no move to take it.

“Was it a bite?” This is bad. Hanna’s using the tone of voice that says she’s already mad, she’s just asking questions to determine _how_ mad she’s going to be. Shit.

Emily nods, hoping silence will be some kind of protection.

“Was she on _patrol_? Alone in the middle of the fucking woods?”

This is exactly where lying gets you. All this protecting people for their own good, and of course Alison and Ashley aren’t here to answer for those choices now. Hanna deserves to know. Of course she does. But it isn’t Emily’s secret to tell. 

“You should ask her.”

“She’s a Slayer,” Hanna says. Emily can feel her indignation emanating off her, feel the heat of her glare from ten feet away. “Like Alison.”

Emily bites her bottom lip, her heart dropping into her stomach. How does Hanna know? How _much_ does she know?

Hanna jumps up so fast she knocks the coffee table over. The glass breaks into a zillion pieces and water sprays everywhere.

“ _You knew,_ ” Hanna says, her voice crackling with fury. “You knew and you didn’t even tell me!”

Emily feels guilt twisting her stomach into knots. There’s no sense in denying what Hanna clearly already knows.

“It wasn’t my place.”

“Are you kidding me? Are you seriously going to sit there and try to tell me it wasn’t your job - as my best friend - to tell me that my mom is secretly out there fighting evil with mad ninja skills or whatever? And almost dying in the woods? But nope - no need to tell Hanna about any of that! Let’s make popcorn and share a plate of nachos!”

“I know you’re mad -”

“Mad? _Mad?_ I passed mad three exits ago! Is this - is this what happened to Alison? When she disappeared? Was she off somewhere killing monsters?”

God, Hanna’s batting a thousand tonight. “She was training. At the sorority house. With Mrs. Grunwald. She’s her Watcher.”

“Incredible!” Hanna exclaims, waving her hands in the air. “She vanishes into thin air! She leaves us all not knowing if she’s alive or dead! Then she comes back and lies to us for years and you’re still defending her! You’re protecting her!”

“She was trying to keep you safe! Your mom was, too! If you knew the truth, it would make you a target!”

“Hello?! I’m already a target! And if there are _vampires_ roaming the streets, I’d rather know about it!”

“I told Ali to tell you! And I didn’t know about your mom until Buffy and her friends showed up. I never would have kept that from you.”

“Except for the part where you’ve been keeping it from me for weeks now! After everything we’ve been through!”

“I’m sorry,” Emily says. It’s the only thing to say.

“How did you find out?” Hanna asks, accusingly.

“How did you?” Emily asks.

Hanna’s eyes slide sideways, and she avoids a direct answer. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Was it AD? Did they send you a video or something? Because you can’t trust - ”

“I can’t trust anyone! Not you! Not Alison! Not even my own mother!”

“Of course you can trust me! How could you even say that?”

“You knew, Emily! You’ve been keeping this huge secret from me! If it wasn’t for these stupid visions, I’d still be in the dark!”

“Wait. Visions?”

“Visions, okay? I have secrets, too! They happen in dreams, and when people touch me! And if it wasn’t for whatever supernatural mojo is making it happen - I’d still be in the dark!”

“So you - you read my _mind_?”

“Well, your mouth wasn’t telling me what I needed to know!”

“People’s thoughts are _private_ , Hanna! You can’t just invade somebody’s mind!”

“I wasn’t invading! It’s like a vision quest or something. I can’t help it! But it wouldn’t even be a big deal if you didn’t have something to hide!”

Emily shudders. It’s way too much like being in the Doll House, someone watching you 24/7. What wouldn’t AD give to actually be inside their minds?

What else did Hanna see? She thinks about waking up next to Ali, kissing her naked shoulder. The surge of hope that sometimes rips through her heart when she sees a man who looks like her dad walking down the street. The fear that she feels every time Alison is out on patrol without her. The way Alison sometimes comes back from patrol all riled up and - Emily feels herself blushing.

“You have every right to be mad that your mom didn’t tell you. But that was her choice, not mine. And it doesn’t give you the right to stomp around inside my brain!” She grabs her jacket and starts stuffing clothes in a bag. 

“Where are you going?” Hanna demands. “We’re in the middle of a fight!”

“If you want to fight with your mom, fight with your mom! If you want to shout at Ali, go for it! If you want to tell me you’re sorry for invading my head space, I’ll be at my mom’s!”

Emily slams the door for good measure. The sound of it rings in her ears all the way to the car.


	24. Barnstorming

Hanna storms over to her mother’s house before the sun is even up the next morning. After a night of no sleep, just racing angry thoughts, and tossing and turning and punching the fancy pillows until their feathers flew out. 

The streetlights are still on as she gets out of the car, and she’s fumbling to find the right key when she hears footsteps coming up behind her. She whirls around and nearly pepper sprays Byron Montgomery in the face.

“Sorry,” he says, holding up both hands. “I was looking for my wife.”

“Right,” Hanna says, opening the door and stepping inside. “Sorry. I’m a little jumpy.”

He’s hanging out on the porch, maybe not wanting to catch Ella making doe eyes at the tweed wearing librarian. Whatever.

Ella comes out of the kitchen with a cup of tea in her hands. “Hanna,” she says. “I thought I heard you come in.” Giles wanders out after her.

Hanna jerks her thumb towards the door. “You have a visitor.”

“Byron?” Ella says, surprised. “What are you doing out there? Come in!”

“I thought Ashley wasn’t feeling well,” he says, coldly, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know it was an all night social hour.”

Ella casts an apologetic glance at Giles and goes over to the door to talk to Byron in low tones. Hanna doesn’t spare them another moment of thought as she stomps towards her mom’s bedroom.

She’s halfway there when she sees Pam Fields standing at the top of the stairs with her arms folded and a forbidding look on her face. She shakes her head and comes forward, putting a restraining hand on Hanna’s arm. “She’s sleeping. She needs to rest.”

“I need to talk to her,” Hanna insists.

Pam shuffles her back downstairs before she responds. “And she needs to talk to you. But now isn’t the time. Come on. I’ll make you some breakfast.”

“I don’t want scrambled eggs. I want an explanation!”

“With cheese? Or without?”

“I’m hungry for information, here!”

“Extra cheese. And maybe a side of pancakes.”

Hanna sits down heavily on one of the kitchen stools. “It just seems like I’m the last to know.”

Pam cracks two eggs firmly against the side of the pan. “The hardest thing about having children is realizing you can’t protect them from everything.”

“I’m not a child anymore.”

“And neither is Emily. I know that. But the heart sometimes forgets.”

She sets a steaming plate of eggs and pancakes in front of Hanna with a smile. “Eat up. Then go home and get some sleep. I’ll call you as soon as Ashley is awake. I promise.”

\---------

Hanna doesn’t go back to the loft. She goes to Spencer’s. She’s in her car, parking in front of the Hastings house before she even realizes that’s where she’s heading. The windshield wipers are beating a steady rhythm against the early morning rain storm that has started up. 

She throws the car door open and runs toward the barn. It’s still early, but Spencer never really sleeps anyway. 

She opens the door with a giant cup of coffee in hand. It’s like a soup bowl with a handle. She ushers Hanna inside without asking any questions, she just flips on the gas fireplace and pulls a fluffy beach towel out of the linen closet and hands it to Hanna so that she can dry off after her brief drenching on the way to the doorstep.

“My mom is a Slayer,” Hanna says, without preamble. “And so is Ali.”

“What?!” The look of shock and horror on Spencer’s face makes Hanna feel warm and fuzzy inside. Finally. Someone who understands.

“I had a vision last night. Emily was trying to shake me awake, and I saw my mom get hurt. Alison and Emily rescued her.”

“So Emily _knew_?”

“She knew. We had a big fight and she stormed out and I got lectured by her mom, and now here I am.”

Spencer sits down heavily on the couch. “That’s - a lot.” She rubs her temple, like there are too many thoughts inside her head. “Is your mom okay?”

“I think so. Pam and Ella circled the wagons and wouldn’t let me see her yet.”

“Well, we’ll go back there. I’ll distract them and you -”

“Spence,” Hanna says, instinctively reaching for her hand before remembering why it’s a bad idea. She stops, her palm hovering awkwardly a few inches above Spencer’s. “We don’t need to go all Mission Impossible. It’s okay.”

“We could call Mona,” Spencer says, cracking a smile. “She could rappel us up the side of the house and laser through the glass to unlock the window.”

“We should text her,” Hanna suggests. “Not for the black ops. But we should call a meeting.”

Spencer already has her phone out, sending SOS texts. “One where we play Truth or Dare without the dares?”

Hanna smiles a little too. “Exactly.”

\---------

It’s only been five minutes, but Rosewood’s a small town. How far away could the others be? So when there’s a knock on the door, Hanna gets up to let them in. 

But there’s no one there. Weird.

“Maybe it was the wind?” Spencer suggests, as a knocking sounds against the windows on the other side of the barn.

“Or kids?” Hanna says, uneasily. “Is ding dong ditch still a thing?” She and Spencer stare out the windows at nothing for a few moments before the sound of giggling at the door reaches their ears, followed by another knock.

Spencer marches over and opens the door. No one. Again.

She slams it shut and puts a finger to her lips, motioning for Hanna to come join her. They ignore two more knocks on other walls, crouching down, Spencer’s hand poised on the doorknob. The moment they hear the giggling, she flings it open.

Hanna nearly faints. There’s a gaggle of dolls, giggling and moving on their own and _Jesus Fucking Christ pushing their way inside the barn._ Hanna backs up into the coffee table, banging her shin hard enough to be certain this isn’t a nightmare. Most of the dolls are walking with a rolling cloth footed gait, while others are crawling, or hopping towards them in a super sinister way. 

Spencer screams, which breaks Hanna out of her frozen in fear pose. She grabs a decorative oar off the wall just as Spencer hurls the steaming coffee pot at a faceless cornhusk doll. Hanna smacks a red haired Cabbage Patch doll with demonic eyes across the room, then stomps hard on a baby doll with blinky eyes that keeps saying “Mama” as it tries to sink its teeth into her ankle.

Spencer has a carving knife in hand, and she’s parrying with an evil looking marionette. Hanna catches sight of a curly haired porcelain doll trying to catch the hem of her dress on fire in the fireplace. She uses the oar to smash her to pieces against the stone hearth. 

The Cabbage Patch is climbing up Spencer’s back and trying to choke her from behind.

As Hanna is rushes over to help, drop kicking a sad clown doll on the way, but by the time she gets there, Spencer’s been distracted just long enough for the marionette to have grabbed a knife of its own, one that it’s using to slice a long red gash across Spencer’s abdomen.

Hanna is so scared, she rips the marionette’s arm clean off its body. Then tosses its head into the fire. Spencer’s holding one arm protectively over her stomach, but she manages to stuff the Cabbage Patch into the garbage disposal head first. Her demonic giggling subsides into a shriek as the blades of the disposal whir to life.

Hanna glances around just long enough to ensure that the other dolls are still out of the picture and then kneels beside Spencer, who’s slumping against the cabinets.

Hanna grabs a dish towel and presses it hard against the oozing cut. 

“No!” Spencer says, harshly. 

“Does it hurt?” Hanna asks, biting her lip.

“No,” Spencer says, gritting her teeth and - is she blushing a little? Oh. Oooooh.

“Don’t be stupid,” Hanna chides her. “Do you have a first aid kit?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. It’s Spencer. Of course she does. Hanna finds it in the bathroom, under the sink.

She returns to find Spencer peeking at the wound.

“You know you’re supposed to keep pressure on it,” Hanna says. 

“It seems pretty shallow,” Spencer says, taking in a sharp breath.

“Yeah, well, you got stabbed by a creepy ass doll. You’re allowed to drop the tough girl act and let me take care of you.”

Spencer almost laughs, or tries to. Hanna’s swabbing her with hydrogen peroxide, and pressing gauze against the long red slash mark. 

It happens in the space of a moment as Hanna’s fingers brush against Spencer’s bare back as she wraps medical tape around her ribs.

_The kitchen shifts, becomes a black and white night club with Spencer stretched out on top of a piano. Her lips are pursed and she looks straight at Hanna, all dark eye shadowed and sultry voiced._

_“You know you wanna kiss me.”_

Hanna jerks away. Her hands are shaking. 

A voice cuts through her confusion. 

“What the hell is going on in here?” Melissa Hastings asks from the doorway.

“Nothing,” Hanna and Spencer say, in unison.

Melissa casts a dubious eye around the room, which is strewn with doll parts and stuffing. The broken pieces of porcelain in front of the fire. The smashed coffee pot and the oar ripped off the wall. The marionette head turning to grisly ash in the flames.

“I thought I heard a scream,” she says, suspiciously.

“That was me,” Spencer tells her. “I cut myself. Chopping vegetables.”

Melissa quirks an eyebrow. It’s a bad lie. There’s not even a cutting board out, much less any vegetables. “Were you chopping them on your stomach?”

“It’s fine,” Spencer assures her. “Just a knick. But thank you for your concern.” She tries to pull herself to her feet, but can’t quite manage it. Hanna puts an arm around her waist and helps her to her feet. 

_The night club is back, but the piano is a heart shaped bed. Spencer is all bedroom eyes, bedroom voice, bedroom everything. But she moves off the bed, approaches Hanna like she’s floating, like she’s a cloud or the fog or she’s evolved beyond feet._

_“I got a package full of truth,” Spencer says. “Addressed from me to you.”_

_“I’ll sign for delivery.”_

_Spencer pulls her dress down over her shoulder. “Write it across my heart, baby.”_

_Her eyes bore into Hanna. “I love you.” And then she kisses her with everything she’s got. A jazz band strikes up, the piano bed is playing itself._

And then it vanishes, Spencer is sitting on the couch and Melissa is frowning at the door.

“Careful,” Hanna says to Melissa. “Your face might freeze that way. So full of sisterly concern.”

Melissa rolls her eyes and huffs back towards the house. 

“Sorry about that,” Spencer says, in a small voice. “You got hit with a couple of them, didn’t you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hanna says, softly. “The important thing is you’re okay. You are right? You don’t have insides oozing out of anything?”

“No,” Spencer assures her, looking down at her bandages. 

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I really want to hug you.”

Hanna’s heart is beating hard and her throat feels dry. “Is that all you want to do?”

Spencer looks at her, half-surprised, half-embarrassed. But there’s something in her eyes that’s like a hot coal. Something that makes Hanna’s stomach tighten. _Desire._

Neither of them moves a muscle, the moment is heavy with promise and anticipation.

Until the sound of footsteps approaching the door snaps them out of it, as Emily, flanked by Alison and Aria, raps her knuckles politely against the doorframe.


	25. Boom Crunch

When they get into the barn, it looks like an honest-to-God doll massacre has occurred. There’s yellowish stuffing and ripped doll clothes everywhere. A decapitated baby doll head is staring blankly at Aria from the floor. A pair of waxy-looking arms are lurking nearby, the limbs torn off at the shoulder hinge. Distantly, Aria thinks that this would make a fascinating photo series.

“Sorry for the mess,” Spencer says sardonically as she gestures Aria, Alison and Emily inside. “We had some unexpected visitors.” Spencer is kind of clutching her stomach, and Aria notices a bandage peeking out from under her shirt. Hanna is on the couch, looking flushed and a little out of it.

“What happened?” Emily asks with concern, surveying the scene around them.

“What does it look like?” Hanna posits, snapping back to attention. “Doll attack.” Her tone is flinty, her expression hard. That probably has something to do with the reason Emily huffed every time Hanna came up on the car ride over.

“Someone showed up with dolls?” Alison asks.

Spencer shakes her head, settling back down on the couch. She puts a weird amount of space between herself and Hanna. “More like the dolls showed up themselves. And literally attacked us.”

“Magic,” Aria whispers.

Spencer shrugs. “You could call it that.” She turns to Alison, raising an eyebrow. “So, are we going to talk about what you’ve been up to?”

Emily’s eyes widen and she turns to Hanna. “You told her?!”

“Of course I told her!” Hanna exclaims, finally standing. “And you told Ali that I know, right?”

“Yeah, but that’s different!” Emily proclaims.

“Why?” asks Hanna.

“Because Ali and I—”

“Stop!” Aria bellows. The noise of her voice is strange even to her own ears. She sounds so sturdy, so commanding. She knows it’s because of the power inside of her, doing its thing. “What are you guys talking about?”

Spencer’s jaw goes slack. “You didn’t clue Aria in?”

Alison shakes her head. “We were a little busy, what with the S.O.S.”

“Bullshit,” Spencer scoffs. “You’ve never needed a reason to keep a secret from any one of us.”

“Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Aria demands. She can feel that warm, mad energy rising inside her, the kind that lately seems to send pencils flying up off of tables and across the room. She hates being the last one to know.

Hanna raises an eyebrow at Emily, who has her arms crossed. It looks like a regular standoff. “Are you guys going to tell her, or should I?”

Emily glances warily between Hanna and Alison, who eventually steps forward. “I’m a Slayer,” she says to Aria, slowly. Not quite making eye contact.

Aria feels her jaw clench. So this is what Jenna and Noel were talking about, when they alluded to Alison having more secrets. God, right on the money, those two.

“Everybody knows?” Aria asks lowly.

“We just found out tonight,” Hanna says. “Or, er, this morning, sort of.”

“That’s part of why A.D.’s been targeting Alison,” Emily explains. “At least, that’s what we think.”

“There’ve been a lot of revelations,” Spencer says, trying to catch Aria’s eye. “But what with the recent attacks, I think we should focus our energy on solving this mystery. If we survive, there will be plenty of time to hash out…everything.” Aria’s a bit lost in thought, but she thinks she sees Spencer throw a significant look to Hanna at that comment.

“My money’s still on Jenna and Noel,” Emily tells the group.

“I agree with Em,” Ali states.

Aria breathes in sharply, her jaw still clenched. She can feel that angry energy continuing to build inside her. Not even a moment to process all of this, before they’re moving on to blame Jenna and Noel. Of course.

“I’m telling you guys, it’s not them!” she insists. With a sigh, she adds, “Jenna and Noel have been helping me!”

“With what?” Spencer asks.

“With—with—” Aria sputters. She looks around at the puzzled faces of her friends. Spencer is clearly still in discomfort, but that seems to be secondary to her curiosity. Hanna looks vaguely pissed off, Alison is unreadable as always, and Emily mostly just looks concerned.

“With Ezra,” Aria finally says.

“What?” Emily asks with a frown. “He’s still in New York, right?”

Aria closes her eyes, and when she reopens them, she knows that the truth is coming out. Now. “No. He was never in New York. His whole family was involved in something. Something really bad.” Her voice sounds distant to her own ears, detached. Like she’s telling someone else’s story.

“ _Was_?” Spencer murmurs.

Aria knows that the whole world will change with her next words. She says them anyway: “He’s dead.”

Emily’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. Hanna gasps. Spencer’s eyes widen. “Aria…” Alison breathes.

Aria feels the ball of energy inside her grow larger. Hotter. They’re all so stunned, but maybe if they’d been paying attention, maybe if they’d read the signs…

They weren’t there, when she needed them most. Jenna and Noel were.

“Aria, I’m so sorry,” Emily murmurs, trying to reach a hand out. “What happened?”

“Does it really matter?” Aria retorts. “It was what always happens. A betrayal.”

“I don’t understand,” Hanna says. “But we want to be there for you. Are you okay?”

Aria narrows her eyes. “Do I look okay?”

“Not really,” Spencer tells her. “But that’s expected right now. We want to help.”

“Maybe I don’t want your help!”

“What are you saying?” Alison asks, brow furrowed. “What was Ezra doing? And what does that have to do with Jenna and Noel?”

“They were there,” Aria tells her coolly. “They saved me. Ezra was going to use me as a sacrifice.”

“Aria, why would they do that?” Emily asks.

“They have their reasons.”

“Have they…involved you with something?” Spencer asks.

Aria crosses her arms. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Hanna takes a step closer, but Aria rocks back on her heels. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Hanna posits.

“It means that they were there. When you weren’t. So leave me alone!” Aria edges backwards a bit. They’re all staring at her like she’s crazy. Like she’s some child in over her head. Well. Screw them.

“Aria!” Spencer chirps.

“No!” Aria exclaims fiercely. “How could you not see it, Spencer? You, who prides yourself on investigating? How could you not notice?”

“What do you want me to say?” Spencer pleads. “I’m so sorry about Ezra. But I don’t know what I could have done.”

“Seriously?” Aria scoffs.

All three of them seem to want to move closer, but they can’t. They’re trapped behind Aria’s barrier. Exactly as she intended. “Clearly something’s been going on with me, but you’ve been too distracted! All of you have, with your relationship drama and secrets!”

“Aria, this isn’t fair!” Hanna states. “Spencer and I tried to talk to you! You shut us out!”

“Save it, Hanna. I may have been out of it these past couple of weeks, but I’ve been paying attention. We both know that you and Spencer have been too focused on one another to give a damn about me.”

“What are you talking about?” Emily sputters, whipping to face Hanna. “What is she talking about?”

“You’re no better, Emily! You and Ali—God, the things Noel and Jenna has told me. Do you know who Ali really is? What she’s truly capable of?”

“Aria, please!” Alison murmurs. She’s the calmest of the three, but she still seems freaked out. _Good_. “You’re hurt and you’re lashing out. I get it. But we just want to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk!” Aria yells. “I want to get the hell out of here!”

With that, she turns around and stomps out of the barn, without another look behind her. She rattles off a quick spell, relishing in the immediate slam of the door behind her, alongside the sound of thunder rolling violently up above.


	26. Five-By-Five

Though it sounds hella depressing to Faith, there is a small amount of comfort in the knowledge that should she ever need to go into retirement, a Slayer can do pretty well for herself in hotel management. Grandma Slayer may not be a millionaire, but her hotel is freaking _nice_. And it used to be a loony bin or something, so extra props to her.

Faith is admiring the elegance of the space—certainly a step up from the probably-rat-infested Lost Woods—while seated on Mona’s hotel bed. And okay, she’s admiring some others things too, like the curve of Mona’s ass in her tight black skirt, and the way her dark hair is pulled over one shoulder. Faith’s only human—superhuman, but still; can you blame her?

Mona is standing at the little counter near the television, setting up her multiple laptops. Faith isn’t really sure what they all do, but she thinks it’s pretty cool that Mona knows. Faith herself _was_ whittling random wood pieces into stakes, but she got a bit distracted.

“You wanna learn how to whittle?” Faith offers, already guessing Mona probably doesn’t need a lesson.

“I already know how.” Mona replies, predictably. “But thank you. How many stakes have you made today?”

“A lot,” Faith tells her, putting the current piece of wood down. “After the vamp attack at the church, I figured we can’t have too many. And it kinda, I don’t know. Relaxes me.”

Mona nods, still not turning around. “You sure you don’t want me to try and teach you how to hack?” she asks.

“I’m fine from here,” Faith replies, dropping the pocketknife into her lap and leaning back on one arm.

Mona spins around, smirking. “I know that tone of voice.”

“Do you, now?”

Mona raises an eyebrow. “Well, I didn’t wear this skirt so you _wouldn’t_ stare at my ass.”

“I’ve been caught,” Faith chuckles, not minding one bit. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

Mona shrugs, taking a step closer. She’s still smirking, but there’s something else in her eyes. A bit of nervous energy. Faith gets it. She feels it too. For all of their flirty banter and acknowledged attraction to one another, it hasn’t gone any further. Not a single kiss. Just a couple of almosts.

And the rap of knuckles on the door puts this encounter firmly into that category. “It’s Willow,” Mona sighs, moving toward the door.

Faith deflates. She knows why Red is coming over—Willow can hack, Mona can hack, yada yada yada. Doesn’t mean she has to like it.

“Hey!” Willow chirps when Mona opens the door. She steps inside, quirking an eyebrow in Faith’s direction. “Oh, hi. Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Believe me, the pleasure is all mine,” Faith replies a bit sourly.

Mona shoots her a “be nice!” look, so Faith works on rearranging her face into something less frowny.

In truth, it’s not like things have been totally strained and bitter between she and Willow for all these years. It’s just, well, they almost always have a Buffy buffer, which probably should make things more awkward, given the history, but usually Buffy nervously babbles long enough that it fills up all the time. And usually there isn’t also a non-Buffy girl around that Faith is crushing hard on.

“Wow, cool set up,” Willow comments. “My stuff seems kinda over the hill in comparison.” She sets her giant bag down, pulling out a laptop and a bunch of wires. Or maybe they’re cables. Faith observes from the bed, trying not to seem sullen.

“No, this is neat,” Mona replies, though Faith can see that she’s privately pleased to have the nicer hardware. She and Willow make quick work of getting Willow’s laptop integrated into the web of Mona’s own computers.

Faith’s eyes start to glaze over quickly, and she gets back to her wood. She knows she could leave, go get a drink or do a quick patrol if she wanted to. But even in her boredom there’s something kind of mesmerizing about the way Mona works. Mostly because she’s so damn _good_ at it.

Even so, not much progress is being made. Faith’s vaguely aware of what the goal is here: to use cell towers or something to find the location of A.D.’s cell phone. But apparently this person—or demon, or the freaking reanimated corpse of Steve Jobs—has super tech powers, because this cell phone seems to be off in Narnia. All they’ve determined so far is that the phone is likely mystical in nature, given how hard it is to crack.

Mona and Willow have been going at this for about an hour, having pulled up chairs to the counter and raided the minibar. Mona groans in frustration, dragging a hand through her hair. Which, _wow_. That noise combined with that visual gets Faith’s attention. She sets the pocketknife down again.

“Can I help?” she offers, already knowing the answer.

“I don’t think so,” Mona replies. “But thanks.” She shoots Faith a small smile, just as her phone buzzes. Mona checks the text, her expression growing hard.

“We have to go to Spencer’s,” she says with a sigh. “There’s been another attack.”

\-----

“Dolls?!” Faith says incredulously. “Like _Bride of Chucky_ , _Dead Silence_ , _Puppet Master_ dolls?!” She steps back, putting her hands up. “Okay, I’m out. You don’t mess with dolls.”

Mona shoots her a good-natured scowl. They’re at Spencer’s barn, just the two of them, Hanna and Spencer herself. Something’s up with Aria, and Emily and Alison had to go off somewhere—they’re probably making out in a closet, which Faith suspects might be exactly what Willow is doing with Buffy, despite her promise to keep at the hacking. (And also what Hanna clearly wants to do with Spencer. This town is super fucking _gay_. Not that Faith’s complaining.)

“You watch too many horror movies,” Mona chides. She crouches down, pulling a legless Raggedy Ann into her lap. “Ugh.”

“You want them?” Hanna offers from her spot leaning up against the arm of the couch. Spencer is seated next to her, a plush gray blanket over her lap.

Mona tosses the doll back on the floor and stands up. “No,” she replies, stepping a bit closer to Faith. “I’m one hundred percent done with dolls.” She looks at Spencer. “So, theories?”

“Sure,” Spencer says. “But none that I feel very sure about. Do you know what’s going on with Noel and Jenna?”

Mona frowns. “No. Why would I?”

“Because you’re Mona,” Hanna replies simply. Faith gets that. Mona is like the Rosewood oracle. But a super cool, super hot oracle.

“Aria’s involved in something with them, and we don’t know what,” Spencer explains.

She looks at Hanna shiftily, and Hanna takes a breath before saying, “Ezra’s dead.”

“The pervy teacher kicked the bucket?” Faith says in surprise. “Wow.”

Mona doesn’t seem to react, looks oddly frozen. “You guys are worried,” Faith observes, noting Hanna’s crossed arms and Spencer’s fidgety limbs.

Hanna nods. Mona walks a few paces over to the roaring fireplace, where bits of doll bodies are still melting. She sets a hand heavily against the mantle place. There’s a picture of Spencer with another pretty brunette. Her sister. Melissa.

Faith walks over to her, standing close. Mona seems to be totally in her head. Gone is the light, flirty Mona from before, or even the harried investigator from not long after. This girl is a puzzle, one Faith is determined to solve.

“You okay there, Supergirl?” Faith asks gently. “You didn’t care for the Nutty Professor, did you?”

Mona turns away from the fire, facing Faith. Her expression is vulnerable, young. Faith can clearly imagine what she looked like as a teenager, needing so badly to belong. How could Hanna not have wanted her, then? How could she not want her now?

“No,” Mona whispers. “Not at all. But it makes sense now.”

“What does?”

“Hanna’s vision,” Mona murmurs.

Faith scrunches her eyebrows together. “Huh?”

“My _what_?” Hanna gasps, racing over to them. “You know about my visions?”

Mona blinks slowly. Maybe it’s just the reflection of the fire, but Faith thinks she sees tears in her eyes. “Yeah, Hanna. I do,” she says quietly.

“How?” Spencer asks, standing.

Mona bites her lip, looking at Faith. Looking at the ground. Looking anywhere but at Hanna. “Because of the mask.”

“The mask?” Faith repeats.

“Yeah,” Mona murmurs. “I have this enchanted mask. And when I look through it, I can see what’s going on in the head of the person whose face it is.”

“And it’s _my_ face?” Hanna breathes.

Mona nods. “Hanna, I’m sorry,” she says pleadingly, starting to sound a little hoarse. “I—I hadn’t used it in so long. Not since we were really young. But when you were kidnapped I thought I could use it to help find you. It didn’t work, of course. A.D. blocked it somehow. But then I just tried it on onetime after, and I saw your vision about Aria and the sidewalk.”

“You went inside her brain?!” Spencer says furiously. “How could you do that?”

“Mona, that’s so…” Hanna’s eyes widen, as though she’s just realized something. “I just can’t believe that.”

“It’s incredibly invasive,” Spencer declares.

“Hey, she was trying to help you!” Faith points out. She gets that it’s messed up, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t use the shit out of a similar mask, if given the chance.

“I’m sorry,” Mona whispers. “I wasn’t going to tell you. But maybe it could help—”

“Wow, and here I thought you’d changed,” Hanna says quietly.

“Hanna—” Mona murmurs, trying to step closer.

Spencer blocks her way. “I think you two should leave,” she says sternly. “ _Now_.”

Faith grabs Mona’s hand without thinking about it, and they wordlessly head outside and into Mona’s car. Faith takes the wheel. Mona looks really upset, in no condition to drive.

“Hey,” Faith murmurs before starting the car. “For what it’s worth, I get it. The whole obsessed-with-the-cute-blonde-who’s-supposed-to-be-your-friend thing.”

“She was finally trusting me. And I messed it up. _Again_ ,” Mona says softly, staring straight ahead.

Faith shifts in her seat. “Y’know, one time Buffy and I swapped bodies.” Mona turns to face her, looking extremely interested. “True story. And it was the weirdest thing. Walking around in her skin—I kind of loved it. It was like, I got to be her, and I got to touch her, but it was me, y’know?” She shakes her head, hearing how crazy that sounds. “I don’t think anyone could really understand that.”

“I understand it,” Mona tells her, eyes wide and sincere. Maybe a bit tearful. Without looking down she slides her fingers gently over Faith’s wrist. The action makes Faith shiver.

They’re so close now. Faith could just lean right in. “Mona…” she breathes, just as her cell phone starts to ring.

Mona pulls her hand away and Faith lets her head fall back against the seat. _Of course._ She reaches for her phone, seeing that it’s Willow calling her.

“You just have a sixth sense for when I’m about to have any fun, don’t you?” Faith says as a greeting, putting the phone on speaker mode.

“What?” Willow replies.

Faith glances over at Mona, who’s smoothing the hem of her skirt and not looking at Faith. “Never mind. What’s up, Red? You’re on speaker.”

“Well, I found something. Maybe,” Willow says. “I can’t find the location of the phone, but I did find the private company that manufactured it. What was the name of that pervy video club?”

Mona leans forward, intrigued. “The N.A.T. Club,” she answers. “Why?”

“The name of the private company is N.A.T. Enterprise,” Willow replies.

Mona looks up at Faith. Her gaze is so certain, so powerful, that it sends a tingle from the back of Faith’s neck all the way to her toes.

“We need to talk to Jason DiLaurentis,” Mona announces. “He was a member of that club, and he just got back into town.”

“How do you know?” Willow asks.

“I hacked into the Radley guest registry,” Mona replies nonchalantly, indicating for Faith to start the car.

“Really?” Willow says.

Mona rolls her eyes, even though Willow can’t see her. “No. I saw him earlier in the lobby.” She nods toward Faith. “You up for a shake down?”

Faith grins. An interrogation. Maybe he’ll try to keep quiet, and she and Mona will have to play good cop, bad cop. Maybe they’ll keep playing back in the hotel room.

“Always.”

\-----

Mona may not have hacked into the Radley guest registry to find out that Jason was staying there, but she does just that to learn his room number. “It’s easier than flirting with the front desk guy for information,” she tosses off casually once they’re back in her room.

Jason’s on the ground floor, and he answers the door like Death just came knocking. He’s cute in that rugged, Jesusy, hipster sort of way. Looks like the type of guy who probably has a couple of dime bags on him.

“Hello, Mona,” he says sullenly. “What’re you doing here?”

“Why, hello to you too!” Mona says brightly, any trace of her previous upset evaporating. “You sure know how to make a lady feel welcome. This is Faith. She could kick your ass from here back to Ethiopia, so don’t even try to pull any macho crap. You’re going to let us in, and you’re going to tell us everything you know about the N.A.T. Club in its current form. Got it?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Come on in,” he tells them, stepping aside.

“Many thanks, Hot Stuff,” Faith mutters as she walks in.

“We could go through introductions, you could pretend that you don’t know anything, I could explain to you that vampires are real, but we don’t have time for all that and I have a feeling you know anyway,” Mona states, making herself at home on a leather chair. “So: who’s still around and who’s funding the operation?”

“Does my sister know you’re here?” Jason asks, suspicious. He sits down on the bed, running his fingers over his tired-looking face. Faith settles herself against the arm of Mona’s chair.

“Which one?” Mona retorts. “One of the ones you haven’t made out with?”

Faith’s eyebrows shoot up. Incest. _Interesting_.

Jason scowls. “I’m going to take that as a no.”

Mona nods. “And you would be correct to do so. Now, I’ll repeat my question nicely once more. If I don’t get a satisfying answer, I’m sure Faith’s fists will be able to communicate with you: who’s funding the club, and who’s in?”

Faith is not a woman who swoons. She’s _not_. But if she was, she’d probably be swooning right now.

Jason sighs. “I’m not part of it anymore. But Wilden, Garrett, Ian—they’re all still around. As vampires. And they’re part of the club.”

Mona seems to take interest at that, leaning forward in her chair. “Alright. Anyone else?”

“There may have been others. Some vampires. And Fitz might be involved.”

“Not anymore,” Mona tells him. “He’s dead.”

Jason looks truly surprised. “Seriously? Is Aria okay? They were engaged, right?”

Mona shrugs. “I don’t know the details. You can worry about your missed connection with Snow White later. Who’s in charge?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Jason says. Faith thinks she believes him. “But I know who’s helping with money.”

“Who?” Mona asks.

Jason takes a deep breath. “Lucas Gottsman,” he replies.

Mona’s jaw drops open. “Who’s that?” Faith whispers to her.

“The guy whose loft Hanna and Emily have been living in,” Mona tells her. “They’ve got to get out of there.”

“I’m not sure they’re going to be taking our advice anytime soon,” Faith murmurs.

“Is Melissa Hastings still involved?” Mona asks, already moving on to the next order of business.

Jason furrows his brow. “Melissa was never involved,” he says. “Didn’t you know that?” Mona shakes her head. “They just kept her around because they were afraid of what she could do. After they became vampires, they wanted nothing to do with her.”

“Why’s that?” Faith asks.

“I thought you all knew,” Jason says. “Melissa was a Potential.” _Oh_.

“A what?” Mona asks.

“They thought she was going to be a Slayer,” Faith explains. “Damn, lots of Slayers and Slayer-wannabes around this town.”

Jason nods. “The Hastings family found out and they wanted to train her. Veronica and Peter know a lot more than it seems.”

“Like what?” Mona asks.

“I’m not totally sure,” Jason says. “But they tried to protect Spencer from it all.”

“She doesn’t know,” Mona realizes.

Jason shrugs. “I thought she did. Though it doesn’t surprise me. That family’s always been good at keeping secrets.”

Just then, the window beside Jason’s bed shatters open. Glass flies everywhere, as a swift, dark figure dives into the room through the window. In a flash, the figure has pounced on Jason.

“Help!” he shrieks as the figure locks his arm behind his body. Faith gets a good look: it’s the freaking owner of the Lost Woods, Mary Drake.

“My boy,” she hisses against Jason’s neck, her face in full-on vamp mode.

Faith leaps on top of her. “Not so fast, lady!” She pulls her off with ease, delivering a few brutal punches. Mary moves to kick her in the face, but Mona grabs the heavy lamp off the nightstand and whacks Mary over the head with it.

Faith is reaching for the stake in her back pocket when Mary yelps, diving back out the window. Faith is planning to give chase, but Mona grabs her arm, stopping her. “She won’t be back tonight. She’s too smart for that. We’ll need her around to answer some questions, eventually.”

Faith nods, catching her breath. “No harm, no foul.”

“Tell that to my bruised wrists!” Jason says crossly.

“You’ll live,” Mona tells him. “Thanks for the info.” She heads toward the door.

“You’re leaving me here?!” Jason says incredulously.

“The sooner we do, the sooner we can solve this, and get rid of the things that go bump in the night for good,” Mona says, not looking back.

“Get some ice for your wrists,” Faith advises as she follows behind Mona, who’s moving quickly toward the elevator.

“What a rush, huh?” she comments as Mona pushes the button.

Mona looks at her, eyes bright. She may have put on the cool and collected show for Jason, but Faith sees through it. Mona is energized, preoccupied, a little freaked out. Faith feels it too. Doesn’t matter how many vampires sneak up on you. The adrenaline doesn’t go away.

The doors clang open and Mona sucks in a deep breath. She reaches down and grabs Faith’s hand, which makes Faith smile. Mona pulls her inside, and the doors have barely closed before Mona is pressing Faith against them and kissing her, hard.

Faith gasps into her mouth, her hands roaming over every inch of Mona’s body she can touch. She feels better than Faith could have imagined. Mona’s own hands are in her hair, her mouth sliding wonderfully against Faith’s.

Then the doors clang open and Faith stumbles backwards out of the elevator and into the hallway, her hand once again finding Mona’s.

“You okay?” she murmurs, relishing in the way her mouth tastes like Mona’s vanilla lip gloss.

Mona smiles widely at Faith as she leads them toward her room. She looks genuinely satisfied. Actually happy.

“Five-by-five.”


	27. Unwarranted Attention

In the hours after the attack, Ashley drifts in a restless, dream-filled sleep. Images of Detective Wilden swirl together with Tom; he leans down to kiss her, before his face transforms into Jessica’s at the last second. Not Mary, because when Ashley reaches a hand forward, there’s a heartbeat. 

It feels safer now to not be okay, here at home with Ella and Pam nearby. Ashley succumbs to the weakness in her body, vaguely aware of cold compresses being pressed against her forehead, of Pam wrapping her up tight as she shivers through a fever. Ashely can abstractly register Ella’s genuine concern, and at some point she hears the mention of the hospital. But Pam rejects it, for which Ashley is grateful. She isn’t sure why, but through it all, she knows that she isn’t going to die. At least, not tonight.

When she finally wakes for good, sometime in the midmorning, Hanna is there in her room, asleep in a chair. Ashley sits up. All things considered, she doesn’t feel too bad. Sore, to be sure, but that’s a common feeling these days. She’s pretty sure she could even take off the bandage at her neck, though she doesn’t particularly want to see what’s underneath.

Hanna must hear her shifting, because she wakes with a start. “Mom!” she exclaims, jumping up to come toward Ashley. Her face is bright for a second, before her eyebrows knit together. 

Hanna looks like she wants to touch her hand, but she draws away before she can. “I’m really mad at you,” she says quietly. “But I’m really glad you’re okay.”

Ashley swallows. Her throat feels like sandpaper. “What did Emily tell you?”

Hanna’s expression grows harder. Hurt. “She didn’t have to tell me anything. I—I’ve been having these visions.”

“You’ve been having visions? About what?”

Hanna rolls her eyes, and Ashley resists the instinctual urge to chide her for it. “So not the point right now. You’re a _Slayer,_ and you never told me.” She sounds so wounded that it turns Ashley’s stomach.

“I’m sorry,” Ashley murmurs. “I’m so sorry. I did it to protect you. I thought if I could just keep you away from this stuff, it couldn’t touch you.”

Hanna blinks slowly, taking that in. Ashley wonders if she’s thinking about A, about every time Hanna’s had to say something similar. To Caleb. To Jordan. To Ashley herself.

“After I was called, my life had a singular purpose,” Ashley continues, patting the bed for Hanna to sit down. “I was the one person in the world who could protect everyone else from demons. That’s a hell of a responsibility. And then—and then I got hurt. Really hurt.” Ashley takes a shuddering breath, recalling that night not long before her twenty-second birthday, when her entire life was altered in a matter of hours. “And I went from almost dying to finding out about you. Suddenly my purpose was changing. I couldn’t just abandon my duty, but keeping you safe felt more important. Every choice I’ve made since then has been about you.”

“You lied to be,” Hanna states. “You’ve been lying to me since the day I was born.”

“I have,” Ashley admits. “But it's brought me no joy.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when I got older? When I could handle it?”

Ashley smiles sadly. “Probably because the idea of you looking at me the way you’re looking at me right now broke my heart.”

“You knew about Alison?” Hanna asks.

Ashley nods. There’s no point in denying it, now. “I’d had my suspicions about her, especially after Jessica died and she was living with us. But a few years back we ran into each other on patrol, and we’ve been keeping each other’s secret ever since.”

“No one else knows?”

“Well, Emily, now,” Ashley tells her. “And Ella and Pam and Veronica.”

“Did Mrs. D. know? I mean, before she was Mary?”

“Yes,” Ashley says simply. She refuses to elaborate on that right now. Someday, she’ll tell Hanna everything having to do with Jessica. But not today. “And your Grandma Marin.”

Hanna looks at her in surprise. “Really?”

“Mmm hmm. She was my Watcher. Technically still is, I suppose.”

Hanna exhales loudly through her mouth. “This is wild.”

“I know,” Ashley acknowledges.

“I’m still mad at you,” Hanna tells her, though she doesn’t stand back up.

“That’s okay,” Ashley says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

\-----

Once Ashley’s up and everyone’s done fussing over her, she gets a call from Alison. Apparently the time has come for another meeting, this one at the Radley. In the basement. “It’s time,” Alison tells her. Ashley knows exactly what that means.

Hanna refuses to let her drive, so Spencer picks them up in her car. Ashley isn't sure if it’s residual fogginess from her recent brush with death, but there appears to be something odd going on between Spencer and Hanna. They seem hyper aware of each other’s space, a feeling Ashley can identify because she herself has experienced it. More than once.

“You okay?” she asks Spencer from the backseat as Hanna checks her phone outside.

Spencer makes eye contact with her in the rearview mirror, her cheeks noticeably pink even in the evening light. “I’m fine,” she says, unconvincingly. Ashley furrows her brow but says nothing. 

“Mona keeps trying to call me,” Hanna grumbles as she gets into the passenger’s seat. 

“Are you guys fighting?” Ashley asks.

Hanna and Spencer make quick eye contact. “Something like that,” Hanna replies.

“I thought we were done with secrets, Hanna,” Ashley says in her best Mom voice.

Hanna looks at Spencer again but says nothing. The rest of the drive is mostly spent in fairly awkward silence. Ashley is once again grateful for the short distance between her house and the hotel. She directs Spencer to park in the staff lot, then immediately leads the girls to her office. 

“Of all the places to have a meeting, why’d it have to be at creepy-ass Radley?” Hanna mutters as they maneuver through the tunnel to the walled-off part of the basement. “I mean, seriously.”

“There is a reason,” Ashley promises. “Not a reason you’re going to particularly like, but a reason.”

“Oh good,” Spencer quips. Ashley smiles at that. She’s always kind of enjoyed Spencer’s snark, even if it comes close to backtalk at times.

They make their way through the narrow tunnel and into the darkened remnants of the sanitarium basement. There are a few empty shelves, a broken table and some chairs. Ashley knows that there’s the other area down here too, the inhabitable one. But she isn’t going to show the girls that yet, instead weaving her flashlight around the seemingly dilapidated part of the basement.

Alison is already there, along with Emily and Mona. “How did you guys beat us here?” Ashley asks.

Alison shrugs. “We had Mona with us.”

“Where’s Aria?” Spencer asks.

“On her way, hopefully,” Alison states. “She didn’t answer my SOS. Buffy and everyone should be here shortly. They know how to get in.”

Hanna scowls as Mona steps toward her. “I have to talk to you,” Mona says lowly. “I know you’re angry, but it’s important.” She turns to face the group. “In fact, you guys should all hear this.”

“How can we be sure you’ll tell us the truth?” Spencer asks crossly.

“Because I have no reason to lie about this,” Mona replies. “N.A.T. is still active. I spoke to Jason.”

“He’s back in town?” Alison asks. “He didn’t call me!”

“Well, I think he’s had a little on his mind. Mommie Dearest tried to attack him while I was there,” Mona tells them.

“Mary?” Alison says, at the same moment Ashley breathes, “Jessica?”

Mona nods. “But that’s not even the thing I was going to tell you. He fessed up to who’s been funding the club.”

“Is it Noel?” Spencer asks. “Or Mary?”

Mona shakes her head. “Neither.” She looks directly at Hanna. “It’s Lucas.”

Hanna’s jaw drops. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” Mona insists. “He probably has that whole loft rigged with cameras.”

“Oh my god,” Emily breathes.

“Why would he fund their club?” Spencer asks. “There has to be something in it for him.”

“Are you guys there?” comes Buffy’s voice through the tunnel.

“Down here!” Mona calls. Buffy, Willow, Faith, Giles and Spike make their way into the open area. 

“Cozy,” Willow comments.

“No Aria?” Emily observes.

Spike shakes his head. “Did the little bird fly the coop?” He’s acting casual, but Ashley thinks she sees a hint of genuine concern on his face.

Alison shrugs. “We don’t know. But we’re worried.”

“Lucas,” Hanna murmurs, looking distracted. “I thought he was my friend.”

“You told her?” Faith asks Mona, sliding an arm around her waist. 

When Ashley raises an eyebrow Mona looks at her sharply and says, “Problem?” Ashley shakes her head. 

“Who’s Lucas?” Buffy asks.

“The owner of the loft we’ve been staying at,” Emily tells her. “And apparently a total creep.”

“He’s funding the spy club,” Ashley explains. “But we don’t know why.”

“Is he human?” Spike asks.

“Yeah,” Hanna replies.

“But he spends time in a vamp club?” Spike confirms. “Huh.”

“What’re thinking?” Buffy asks.

“Well, I’ve seen this scrawny human kid hanging around the Catacombs,” Spike says. “Always wants to chat up the vamps. I told him to shove it, myself. But maybe he’s your benefactor.”

“Do you think he wants to be turned?” Giles asks.

Spike shrugs. “Maybe.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt our revelations talk,” Alison says. “But Ashley and I need to talk to you about something.”

This is it. Ashley moves to stand beside Alison in solidarity. The flashlights make her feel like she’s back at summer camp, like she and Alison are the goofy counselors about to tell the kids ghost stories. If only they were just stories.

The rest of the group, assembled in a vague semi-circle, look at Alison and Ashley with curiosity. Alison takes a deep breath. “I knew that my mother was Mary,” she admits. 

“For how long?” Spencer asks.

“A while,” Alison replies. “Charlotte did too.”

“And Elliott?” Mona asks.

“We both knew about him. We were just using him for information. We thought he could get us closer to Mary.”

“So you guys were working together?” Hanna asks.

“Yeah,” Alison replies. “But what we didn’t realize was that Mary wanted to turn us.”

“She wanted a whole vampire family?” Faith comments.

Alison nods. “Charlotte thought we should try to re-ensoul her, but that seemed too dangerous to me. Besides, what would that do to her, feeling the enormity of everything she’d done? The people she’d killed?”

“Ain’t exactly a walk in the park, I’ll tell ya,” Spike mutters.

“How do you fit into this?” Hanna directs to Ashley.

“I figured it out,” Ashley tells her, forcing herself to look Hanna in the eyes. “I met Mary one night and I just—knew.” She flashes back briefly to that evening, remembers the rush of joy she’d felt at seeing Jessica again, followed by the immediate devastation of realizing what she’d become. “I spoke to Alison, and she told me that Charlotte wanted to start the re-ensouling process after she got out of Welby.”

“Were you going to help?” Willow asks.

“I hadn’t decided yet.” It’s the truth.

“But once Charlotte got out, Mary attacked. Right away,” Alison explains.

“So Mary killed Charlotte?” Spencer asks.

Alison and Ashley share a significant glance. “Not exactly,” Alison says softly.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echo through the tunnel. “Aria!” Emily says with relief.

“Sorry to disappoint,” comes the stern voice of Toby Cavanaugh as he makes his way into the room. “What exactly is going on here?”

“What are _you_ doing here?” Spencer asks, clearly annoyed.

“If you must know, I have a warrant to arrest two of your new little friends,” Toby replies smugly. He nods toward Buffy and Faith. “Come with me, young ladies.”

“ _Young ladies?_ ” Buffy scoffs. “I’m pretty sure we’re older than you!”

“Yeah!” Faith chimes in. “Also, what the hell?!”

Toby pays no mind to their protestations, moving closer. Mona positions herself in front of Faith, arms folded. She’s significantly less physically imposing than Faith herself, but it’s a nice gesture nonetheless. 

“You two were directly involved in the fire and mayhem that nearly destroyed the church,” Toby explains, readying his cuffs. “That’s trespassing and destruction of property.”

“Destruction of property?” Willow says incredulously. “That’s kind of a normal side effect of saving the world.”

“And they weren’t even inside the church during the fire,” Spencer points out.

“Then how _did_ the fire start, Spencer?” Toby counters.

Hanna steps forward, looking like she could rip Toby’s head off, but Ashley maneuvers herself between them and fixes him with a glare. She’s the only parent here, so this seems like part of the job description. “Toby, you’re being unreasonable,” she tells him.

He shakes his head disapprovingly. “Mrs. Marin, I sincerely hope you’re not interfering with police business.”

She crosses her arms. “As a matter of fact, I am. I’ve had enough bad experiences with the Rosewood PD to learn the importance of second-guessing your decision making. Nothing personal. Now, where’s your warrant?”

Toby rubs the back of his neck, clearly frustrated. “Look, I hoped we could do this the easy way.”

“How did you even know we were here?” Hanna asks. “Have you been following us?”

“It’s for your own good,” Toby tells her.

“Like hell it is!” Faith replies. “I’ve had about all I can take of small-minded bozos thinking they know what's best.”

“Warrant, Toby?” Spencer demands, voice flinty.

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t have it on me, but I can get it. And I’m sure Faith and Buffy won’t be the only people here I end up arresting.”

“Was that a threat?” Giles asks.

“Consider it a prediction,” Toby replies.

Spike snorts, walking over to Toby. “Alright, chap. I think we’ve heard about enough. Come back here when you’ve got something legitimate to tell us.” He puts a hand on Toby’s shoulder, aiming to steer him back to the tunnel. But Toby clearly doesn’t like that. He lurches away, hands automatically going to unholster his gun.

Ashley shoves Hanna further behind her with a gasp.

“Toby,” Spencer murmurs levelly. “What’re you doing?”

“This monster had his hands on me!” Toby exclaims, training the the gun on Spike, who’s taken a big step backwards. 

“He’s not a monster,” Buffy says thinly. “He hasn’t hurt anyone in a long time. Killing him solves nothing.”

“Besides, shooting me won’t even kill me,” Spike adds, his hands up.

“Toby, we don’t want any trouble,” Ashley states softly. “I’m not sure why you’re so convinced we’re up to something.”

“Because you’re always up to something!” Toby proclaims. “I read your file, Mrs. Marin. I know the things you’ve done. For Hanna. For yourself. Do you know how hard it is to keep this town safe?!”

“We do,” Ashley says solemnly. “That’s all we’re trying to do too.”

“But that’s not your job!” Toby says, waving the gun in front of them all. 

“You haven't been sleeping, have you?” Spencer observes.

“Do you actually care, Spencer?” Toby asks bitterly. “Of course you don't! None of you really care about anything but yourselves. I try to do my job, but you won’t let me! I try to take care of you, but you lie to me! I spend all this ti—”

And suddenly Toby drops straight to the ground, the gun hitting the floor with a clatter. A heavy book falls beside him as a figure steps out of the shadows. She puts her hands on her hips and smiles.

“I thought he’d never shut up,” remarks Charlotte DiLaurentis.


	28. Did You Miss Me?

“Did you miss me?” Charlotte asks, grinning a maniacally sweet grin over Toby’s unconscious body.

Alison drops Emily’s hand long enough to come over and hug her.  Hard.

“Ow,” Charlotte says, starting to feel like she’s in the grip of a boa constrictor.  “Slayer strength.”

“Wait a second,” Spencer says, aghast.  “You’re not even dead?”

“No need to sound so disappointed,” Charlotte says, with a breezy wave of her hand.  “I missed you, too.”  She clocks Spencer’s bangs.  Those are new.  As is the way she’s throwing out a new vibe, more possessive than protective, towards Hanna.  Interesting.

“Are you kidding me?” Hanna exclaims.  “Vampires are real.  My mom is a Slayer.  Lucas is a perv and my living space is stalking me.  And I’ve been stuck in Rosewood so that the police can investigate a murder that didn’t even _happen_?”

“It sounds bad when you put it like that,” Charlotte shrugs.  “But let’s not stand here in the dark.  Mi casa es su casa.”  She sweeps them all through a concealed door and into a windowless room adorned with twinkle lights, a giant bed, throw pillows, and a variety of tasteful furnishings.  Canvas flaps are pinned to the walls to give the whole place the feel of an extremely inviting tent.  

Mona looks around at the decor with an amused smirk on her face.  “You stole all this from my glamping trip.”

“Glamping?” a leather clad brunette asks, making a face that can’t quite decide between disgust and confusion.

“I’ll take you after all this is over,” Mona promises.  “You’ll thank me when we’re not sweating up a leaky air mattress.”

“Would anyone like anything?” Charlotte asks, as if she’s hosting high tea.  “Coffee?  Water?  Bourbon?”

“I’ll settle for an introduction,” a pale blonde vampire declares.  “Although, I wouldn’t say no to a little O negative with some Wheatabix on the side.”

“Of course,” Alison says, taking charge.  “This is my sister, Charlotte.  Charlotte, this is -”

“Spike, Buffy, Willow, Faith, and Giles,” Charlotte nods.  “Professional monster hunters.  I keep up.”

“You’re surprisingly well informed for a girl who’s holed up underground,” Buffy says.  “But I need to tell you that I love this carpet.”

“Right?” Willow agrees.  “The color really pops.  Dungeon chic!”

“Interior design work aside, are we to assume that you are concealing yourself down here from your mother?” Giles inquires.

“Exactly,” Alison nods.  “We were debating whether it was even possible to try and reunite her soul with her body, and then she attacked Charlotte and tried to vamp her.”

“Like she tried to vamp your brother this afternoon,” Faith mutters.  “One big blood sucking family.”

“That’s what we think she wants,” Charlotte agrees.  “But she’s doing it because she loves us, really.”

“It’s not your mum,” Spike says, quietly.  “It’s the demon who took her from you.”

“You don’t know that,” Ashley says.  “I think there’s still a good amount of Jessica left inside.”

“But why did you pretend to be dead?” Hanna asks.  Just like these girls to not let bygones be bygones.

“Because if I was dead, she would have to give up on trying to kill me.  I’m not a Slayer.  And I wasn’t going to spend all my time hiding beneath Alison’s skirts.  I mean, Emily’s already-”

“Charlotte,” Emily hisses.  “Focus!”

“I needed more time to research whether it would be possible to re-ensoul her.  From a safe place where I wasn’t in danger of having my throat ripped out.  Ali fought her off in the church, but we set it up to make it look like I jumped off the tower and broke my neck.”

“So you’ve just been living down here?” Spencer asks, suspiciously.  “This whole time?”  She’s glaring around the room in general, and a leopard print pashmina scarf on the dresser in particular.  Any minute now, she’s probably going to break out a pair of white gloves to check for dust.  Or fingerprints.

“With the help of Ashley and Alison,” Charlotte nods.  “I have a few tunnels up to the guest rooms, so I can order room service when I need to.  I have space to entertain.  And, you know, I’ve spent so much time here - it has that homey Hellmouth vibe.”

“This is the Hellmouth?” Buffy says. “Does that mean the rug is stain resistant?”

“Oh, it’s definitely the Hellmouth,” Willow confirms.  “Can’t you feel the rumbly evil under your feet?”

“Rumbling?” Giles asks, vigorously cleaning his glasses.

“Sure,” Charlotte confirms.  “It does that sometimes.”

“You built your fancy hotel on top of a Hellmouth?” Faith asks Ashley.  “That’s pretty badass.”

“The property was very competitively priced!  And I can be here every day, to keep an eye on things, without seeming suspicious.”

“You’re living in the Hellmouth basement?” Spike asks.  “Don’t you find it makes you a bit - crazy?”

“I was crazy before,” Charlotte says, unconcerned.  

“Probably from living on top of it for most of her life,” Alison says, defensively.

“Did the Hellmouth make you stalk us?” Hanna asks.

“Maybe,” Charlotte says, considering.  “Or maybe it was just fun.  But we’re on the same side now.”

“She’s right,” Emily affirms.  “If our enemies are supernatural, we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

“Touch her,” Spencer says suddenly to Hanna.  “Use the visions.  See if she’s telling the truth.”

“What?” Emily says.  “Two wrongs don’t make a right, Spencer.”

“Frankly, I don’t think I’m the one she wants to touch,” Charlotte mutters.  “But if you want to try some vision-based polygraph, I’m on board.”  She holds out her hand, pausing to admire her perfectly manicured nails.

Hanna makes a face but steps forward and takes Charlotte’s hand between two of her fingers.  Her face goes white and she drops it after about two seconds, looking a little sweaty and shaken.

“She’s a straight shooter, this time,” Hanna declares.  “And she’s not aiming at us.”

“Okay,” Spencer nods, reluctantly.  She gives Charlotte an appraising look.  “What do you know?”

“You always ask the wrong questions,” Charlotte tells her.  “I know lots of things.  About the NAT club.  About the Hellmouth.  About dead people who might still be coming home for dinner.  And I’ll tell you everything.”

“Sounds good,” Faith says.  “Don’t wait on our account.”

"I need something first. A teensy-tiny favor. I need you to help re-ensoul my mother."


	29. To Soul or Not to Soul

“Sidebar!” Buffy declares at the mention of re-ensouling. She grabs Willow’s hand without another word, pulling the two of them out of the cozy makeshift room, through the concealed door, and back into the dim, dank basement. Toby is still lying unconscious on the floor, the gun and book a few feet away from him.

“Ugh, talk about a reality check,” Willow mutters.

“Re-ensouling. Thoughts. Go,” Buffy instructs.

Willow frowns. Buffy’s expression is super serious, all of a sudden. “What’s up, love?”

“You’ve done this before,” Buffy tells her. “Nobody else in there has. We saw what it did to Angel, or _God_ , to Spike. And you know the magics involved.”

“All true.”

Buffy sighs. “Is it worth it for a little bit of info? I don’t know what this Charlotte chick’s long-game is, but finding her hiding out in an asylum basement-slash-Hellmouth feels like the opposite of comforting.”

Willow sweeps her flashlight around the room. The knowledge that this space is the location of the Hellmouth makes a creepy place even creepier. 

“I don’t want to make it sound like I always argue on the side of the doing of the spells, but in this case… I mean, Mary’s only been a vampire for a few years,” Willow points out. “She may have done some awful things, but she lived a real, human life for a lot longer. She wants her kids back. We could give that to her.”

“No, what she wants is to make a vampire family.”

“Well, isn’t giving her back her human life and her human kids sort of the same thing, just in reverse?” Willow counters. 

Buffy quirks an eyebrow. “So what I’m getting is that you’re pro-re-ensouling.”

Willow shrugs. “I’m pro-solving this mystery. I’m pro-getting out of here. I’m pro-living somewhere with you that isn’t run by a vampire and has decent water pressure. If re-ensouling Mary is our ticket to those things happening, then I think we should do it.”

“You say that so casually.”

“I don’t mean to,” Willow tells her. “But when you’ve made it so all Potentials can become Slayers, giving one little vampire back her soul kinda feels like small potatoes.” She hears how she sounds, like that arrogant girl from long ago who thought she could conquer the world with her spell book. But she’s older now. She has some perspective. And she and Buffy both know that she’s Mary’s best chance.

“I know you can do it, Will,” Buffy murmurs. “But it’s risky and it’s kinda wrong and the idea of you being mixed up with those two adjectives doesn’t exactly give me the warm and fuzzies.”

Willow offers her a small smile. “How do you think I feel every time you go out on patrol? This is part of it, right? We have these gifts, so we have to use them.”

Buffy presses her lips together. “Alison doesn’t seem totally on-board. And she’s a fellow Slayer. There’s, like, a code for me to uphold.”

Willow smirks, slightly. “Is that in the official Slayer Code of Conduct?”

Buffy nods. “Mmm hmm. Section 7B. Little asterisk, down at the bottom.”

“Excuse me?” a timid voice calls. Two men in bellhop uniforms are making their way out of the tunnel. They’ve got flashlights and what looks to be a makeshift stretcher. “Ms. Marin said there was something for us to collect?” one of the men says.

Willow and Buffy glance at one another, then back down at the crumbled form of Officer Cavanaugh. 

Huh. Willow had almost forgotten he was there.

“Right here, boys!” Buffy instructs.

The bellhops dutifully march over and make quick work of getting Toby, the gun and the book loaded up. Without another word they march back out of the tunnel.

“How many times do you think they’ve done that?” Buffy mutters.

“I don’t want to know,” Willow replies. “Now where would we?”

“Slayer code.”

Willow nods, remembering her next point. “Alison’s scared because she thinks it’s too dangerous.”

“Gee, I wonder where she got that idea!” When Willow just blinks at her, Buffy adds in a softer voice, “But she’s never met you.”

“I know you worry.”

“I do!” Buffy says, sounding a little frantic. “I worry about you and magic and I worry about vampires and demons. With all that supernatural worry there’s barely any space left for normal-person worry, like if Giles will ever find love or if we remembered to pay the cable bill!”

“We haven’t had cable for over a year, honey,” Willow reminds her gently. “We have Amazon Fire now. And I don’t think you need to worry about Giles.”

“That’s true,” Buffy remarks. “He and Ella Montgomery have totally been making more than spells when they get together.” She wrinkles her nose. “Which is a thought I need to have immediately bleached from my brain.”

Willow puts an arm around Buffy. She understands her anxiety, she really does, but this is something they can handle. “We should talk more to Alison and Charlotte,” she suggests.

“Okay,” Buffy agrees. She steps forward as though to head back into Charlotte’s hideaway when the door opens in front of them. “Oh, hi!” Buffy says in surprise as Hanna steps out.

“Hey,” Hanna says quietly. Willow thinks she might be a little afraid of Buffy. She kind of looks at her the way the Potentials used to. “Everyone’s getting a little antsy in there.”

Buffy nods. “We’re headed back inside. Will?”

Willow is looking intently at Hanna, who appears to be on the verge of something. Crying or screaming, or maybe she’s just in desperate need of a hug. “You go on in,” Willow tells Buffy. “I need to chat with Hanna for a sec.”

Buffy gives her a quick _Everything okay?_ look, but Willow motions for her to go inside. Hanna is visibly uncomfortable, not really making eye contact, but she doesn’t seem in a huge rush to get back to the group.

“You look like you needed a break,” Willow observes.

Hanna nods. Even in the darkness, Willow can see some tears in her eyes. “Yeah. It’s just all a lot.”

Willow comes to lean beside her against the wall. “That’s an understatement. Your mom and your friend are Slayers. You’ve been having unexplained visions. You have to move out of the loft.” She chews her lip, mulling over the next statement before deciding to just go for it: “You’re probably in love with your best friend.”

Hanna startles back from the wall, fixing Willow with a terrified stare. “ _What?_ ”

“Hanna, it’s okay,” Willow says softly. “It doesn’t take a detective to see what’s going on between you and Spencer. Just a lesbian who also went through the oh-my-god-I’m-in-love-with-my-best-friend phase of life. And everything worked out pretty well for me.”

Hanna looks like her head is spinning. “I’m not a lesbian,” she murmurs. “Bisexual, I think.”

“Cool. So it’s not the queer part that’s freaking you out?”

Hanna glances helplessly up at the ceiling, then back down again. “It’s _everything_. These visions and my mom and Lucas and Mona. And the fact that at the end of every day, when I try to go to sleep, all I can think about is Spencer.” Her voice is tremulous with tears, and it makes Willow’s heart ache. “At first I thought the visions were just tricking me, or something. Making me feel things that weren’t real. But…”

“It’s real, isn’t it?” Willow recognizes. “No matter how often you tell yourself it isn’t.” She thinks about all that time she spent convincing herself that the way she felt about Buffy was Strictly Platonic, that the only reason she loved her so much was because they’d been through hell and back together. Well, it turned out to be that, and a whole lot more too.

“The visions make it seem like she feels something too.”

“Then you should pay attention,” Willow tells her. “The weirdest, coolest thing about all this mystical stuff is realizing that most of the time, it’s actually there to help you.”

Hanna raises her eyebrows. “You’re telling me that magic has nothing better to worry about than my love life?” She still looks a little distraught, but less so, now. Like she’s let a bit of steam out.

“I’m saying that you can trust yourself. You’ve got a lot power in you.” Willow nods toward the door. “Should we go back in?”

Hanna straightens up, wiping a finger under each eye. “Yeah.” Then she whispers, “Wait.”

Willow turns back around. 

“I was listening to you guys talking out here,” Hanna admits. “I don’t know how you do it. How you make these choices and live in both of these worlds, and still manage to keep it together.”

“It’s hard,” Willow says. “But we know each other better than anyone else does. So that makes it easier.”

She opens the door for Hanna, who murmurs a soft, “Thank you,” as she steps back inside.

No sooner has Willow walked back into the room than Emily is at her side, grabbing her arm. 

“You need to help,” Emily whispers, looking shiftily over at Alison from across the room.

“What?” Willow gasps, trying to re-regulate her heart rate.

“With the re-ensouling. You need to help me convince Alison.”


	30. We Happy Few

Giles has faced countless vampires and demons.  He’s staunched at least five attempts at apocalypse since Buffy was called.  He can meet all manner of hellbeasts with a stiff upper lip and honest indifference to danger.  But put him in a room full of American women, flipping their hair and arguing at the top of their lungs, as argumentative as they are impossibly young - and he finds himself battling a tension headache and in dire need of tea.

He’s leafing through a leather bound notebook he found on one of the bookshelves.  It’s filled with a series of metaphysical readings and observations.  Charlotte clearly isn’t bluffing.  She could write a thesis on the Hellmouth.  Perhaps she has. Perhaps that’s what he’s reading.

Buffy and Willow are engaged in deep conversation on the ethics of re-ensouling with Charlotte, Emily and Alison, while Hanna and Spencer periodically interject.  Faith and Mona are listening to the debate while also playing footsie.  

“She saved my life,” Ashley Marin pleads.  “If it’s possible - if we can save her - we should take the risk.”

“There’s no saving a vampire,” Buffy cautions.  “Having a soul isn’t a failsafe for good behavior.”

“The last time we tried this, you almost died,” Alison tells her sister.  “My mother is dead.  I don’t want to lose you, too.”

“But they know how to do it!” Charlotte protests, excitedly.  “Willow knows!  Don’t you?”

“I do,” Willow admits.  “I have the power.  I can cast the spell.  But it’s a heavy weight to put on someone’s shoulders.  To live for all eternity with a soul that constantly chafes at your vampire instincts?  To have the burdens of your worst deeds rattling around in your conscience like you’re Marley’s ghost?  Is that what you want for your mother?”

“What does Bob Marley have to do with this?” Hanna asks.  “Is he a vampire, too?”  

The discussion devolves into chaos after that.  Giles misses the library sometimes.  It was so quiet there.

He traces a chart with his index finger, recording the increase in demonic energy over time.  It’s like a tide table.  Fascinating, really.

Spike saunters over to him, having just raided the mini fridge for a few bottles of beer.  At first, Giles thinks he’s being friendly, wanting them to share a drink.  But of course Spike drains the first bottle in seconds, then bites off the cap of the second one and drinks it, too.

“Keeping an eye on the ladies is thirsty work,” Spike comments. “Like they’re debating the bloody Treaty of Paris.”

Giles snorts.  “Which was signed forty-five years before you were born.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be proud of our history.  Queen and country and the Sex Pistols.”

“Perhaps you could help them,” Giles suggests.  “Since you have quite a bit of first hand knowledge in this arena.”

“I wanted my soul back,” Spike says.  “Hunted down a way to get it.  Reckon it’s quite a bit different to have your living family decide it’s the right thing for you.”

Giles looks over to at the girls, who are passing around ballots.  Or possibly playing a winner take all version of rock, paper, scissors.  He wonders where Ella’s daughter is.  She’s seemed so full of silent anger the past few days.  Of course, it’s all quite a lot to handle.

He goes back to the journal, parts of which are written, quite fluently, in Latin.  Charlotte DiLaurentis would obviously be an excellent Watcher.  He cringes.  If she were thoroughly reformed, of course.

The girls appear to have reached a decision, just as a small but shaky tremor rattles the floor beneath them.

“We don’t have any more time to waste,” Giles announces to the room at large.  “We need to leave here and muster our forces above ground.”

“Great idea, Jeeves,” Charlotte says, amused.

“I assure you, I’m quite serious,” he says, looking at her sternly over his glasses.  He waves the journal at her.  “You know it just as well as I do.  The Hellmouth.  It’s getting stronger.”    
  



	31. Wait For It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a brief hiatus, we are back! With one of our more exciting updates, if you ask me. Please enjoy and thanks for reading!

“If these predictions are correct,” Giles is saying. “We’re in for a disaster extremely soon.”

“How soon?” Buffy asks at the same moment Alison says, “What kind of a disaster?”

Giles takes off his glasses and starts vigorously cleaning them with a handkerchief from his pocket. Mona has noticed he does that a lot, especially when he’s nervous. “Something between a natural disaster and a supernatural one. Perhaps a tornado, perhaps a hoard of goblins falling from the sky. As for timing, it’s hard to say. Could be days. But in all likelihood, it’s probably closer to hours.”

“Wow, Jeeves, I knew something was on the horizon, but I thought we had at least a week,” Charlotte comments, looking like she might be taking this a bit more seriously all of a sudden.

Mona sits up from her spot on the floor, sliding a hand over Faith’s knee. “We need to get somewhere safe, then. Ashley, as much as I love what you’ve done with this place, we both know it wasn’t built for goblin tornados.” She looks around Charlotte’s makeshift home. It’s cozy, and definitely impressive for someone in hiding. But it’s not exactly a reliable bomb shelter.

Ashley nods reluctantly. “You’re right. Any proposals?”

Mona frowns. If she had to make a list of all the places in the world where she feels safe, Rosewood High wouldn’t even crack the top two hundred. Granted, it would rank above the Dollhouse, but she’s pretty sure even prison would go higher. She could survive in prison, probably pretty easily. She’d make nice with the guards and find herself a big gal to look out for her and start a little side business. It really doesn’t sound too bad.

She barely survived high school, on the other hand.

But now there’s a lot to live for, and despite the way she feels about that place, she’s not about to roll the dice on safety.

“The school,” Mona suggests. “It’s probably the only building more or less up to code in this godforsaken town. And there may be some things there that can help.”

“Like what?” Spencer asks.

Mona shrugs. “A few spell books. Maybe a magic trinket or two. Leftover from—when I was younger.” She’s sure they’re filling in the rest of what she means.

Alison gives her an incredulous look. “You have stuff stashed there too? I have a whole stockpile of weapons in my classroom!”

“Brilliant minds think alike,” Hanna murmurs. Mona wrinkles her nose.

Willow smiles, taking Buffy’s hand. “This is good. We can do a protection spell around the building.”

“We should round everyone up,” Spencer says. “Make some calls.”

The lights above them flicker on and off. Ashley looks up with concern. “Perhaps we should go back upstairs first and see what’s happening outside. We can make the calls in my office.”

They all agree and begin filing out of the room, Mona swiping two of Charlotte’s notebooks when nobody is looking. Just in case.

Upstairs, the lobby lights are still flickering. A few guests are milling around, though they seem eager to get back to their rooms, and the staff is anxiously peering outside. 

“Whoa,” Hanna says, gesturing to the window. Outside, the wind is whipping around a tree so hard that the top branches are at a nearly ninety degree angle. A bolt of lightening flashes through the sky, and thunder rolls overhead.

“We’re sticking together,” Alison says with authority.

“Safety in numbers,” Giles agrees.

“C’mon,” Mona says, nodding toward Ashley’s office. “We don’t have time to waste.”

\-----

The group somewhat unanimously decides to stay put until they’ve reached out to everyone. Mona’s mom is thankfully visiting family in Boston, and Veronica and Peter Hastings are out of town as well.

“But Melissa _still_ isn’t answering her phone!” Spencer grumbles.

“Aria isn’t answering hers either,” Emily states.

“When was the last time anyone saw Big A?” Mona asks, tapping her pencil against a list of names.

“Don’t call her that,” Emily snaps.

Hanna scowls, but answers. “Yesterday, I think.” She rubs a hand over her eyes. “God, the days are running together.”

Mona wants to reach out to her, to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. And not in that way she used to, where her skin would feel hot and tight with desire at the mere thought of touching Hanna. It’s just that Hanna will always be her best friend, even if she isn’t Hanna’s.

“Could Aria be with her new magic pals?” Spike posits.

“Jenna and Noel? I sure hope not,” Spencer replies.

“Y’know, that might not be the worst thing,” Alison says. “I mean, as long as it’s just for a little while. Maybe Jenna can protect them with a spell.”

“Yeah, or Noel can protect them with his abs,” Spike mutters. Mona raises an eyebrow at him.

“Speak of the devil,” Emily says with mild satisfaction. “Aria just texted. She is indeed with Jenna and Noel, but she says she’s safe.” She frowns at her phone. “She’s using a lot fewer emojis than she normally does.”

“You guys should really work out a code for when someone’s been taken hostage,” Mona remarks. “Alright, should we head out?”

“What about Toby?” Spencer asks.

“What about him?” Alison replies.

“He’s at the hospital,” Ashley says quietly. “I had him, uh, sent there.”

Mona nods approvingly. In-Charge Business Slayer is a great look on Ashley. 

The sound of shattering glass startles everyone, as the wind pushes a tree branch through the window in Ashley’s office. 

Hanna yelps. Mona rolls her eyes. “I’m really getting tired of broken windows.”

Alison shakes her head, getting back to the task at hand. “Okay, let’s finish this up and get out of here. We don’t have to worry about Jason. He left for New York today to track down Lucas,” she reminds them.

“Oh, Lucas is _so_ dead the next time I see him!” Hanna announces, edging away from the window and closer to Spencer.

Emily checks her phone again. “My mom’s volunteering at the police station tonight. She says she’s okay.”

“And Byron and Ella will meet us at the school,” Ashley tells them.

“That’s everyone?” Buffy asks.

Spencer sighs. “I don’t feel good about heading to the school without Melissa.”

“Spencer, she’s _Melissa_ ,” Alison says emphatically. “I think she knows how to take care of herself.”

Spencer shakes her head. “Even so, she’s still just a person.” Mona locks eyes with Faith; in all the hubbub of the last few days, they haven’t gotten around to telling Spencer about the Potential revelation. “And she’s my sister.” She looks at Giles. “Do I have a window to get over there?”

He frowns at the notebook in front of him, motioning for Charlotte to come take a look. “What do you think?” he asks her.

Charlotte shrugs. “It’s not like a calendar. It’s not even a clock. Like Giles said, whatever this thing is could hit in days or hours.”

“You said _hours_. As in plural,” Spencer observes. 

“I’d say go for it,” Charlotte offers. “What’ve you got to lose?”

“Uh, her life!” Hanna exclaims. “Spencer, you can’t go! Did you see how crazy the weather is out there?!” She points outside, where rain is starting to come down in thick sheets, some of it blowing inside through the broken window.

“I like Melissa,” Charlotte continues, unfazed. “I don’t want to leave her hanging out to dry either.”

Spencer nods. “Okay. Then I’m going.”

“Like hell you are!” Hanna says sharply. “We don’t know what the heck is going to happen out there!” 

“Hanna, I can’t leave her! Besides, it’s just some wind and rain,” Spencer tells her.

“Likely a precursor to more,” Giles murmurs.

“Fine. Then I’m going with you,” Hanna announces.

Mona turns away. It’s all a bit too third-act-in-a-romcom for her. She knows where those two are headed, and she’s more or less made peace with it. Doesn’t mean she needs to watch.

“Hanna,” Ashley is saying, warningly.

Mona doesn’t bother getting involved. Hanna will go with Spencer, whether it’s the smart thing to do or not. That’s what makes her Hanna, and it’s probably the thing Spencer loves most about her. 

Mona remembers exactly how that felt.

\-----

They get to the school—minus Spencer and Hanna—about twenty minutes later. The wind and the rain are still going strong, but besides that, Mona doesn’t see anything particularly alarming on the way over. Nothing unusual falling from the sky. No creepy dolls popping up in her backseat. That’s almost more unnerving. It’s like the eerie quiet before a storm really hits; too calm, and almost certainly a harbinger of doom. 

Walking into the empty school is a little spooky too, but in that cool kind of way that makes Mona’s spine tingle. Not unlike how it felt to explore Radley at all hours of the night. There’s a part of Mona that half expects someone to be there, waiting for them, but the school appears to be entirely vacant.

“Let’s split up and check, just in case,” Alison suggests once they’re all inside.

Mona looks over at Ashley, who’s twisting her fingers together anxiously. She’s surely worrying about Hanna. Mona’s spent enough hours of her own life doing that to know what it looks like. 

“Want to be my safety buddy?” Mona suggests, shooting Faith an apologetic look as she steps toward Ashley.

Ashley forces a smile. “Sure, Mona.”

Mona glances back at Faith, who nods with understanding. Mona appreciates that about her, that Faith doesn’t require long-winded explanations for Mona’s every action.

“We’ll take the second floor,” Mona announces as she and Ashley separate from the group.

They walk up the stairs in silence, flicking on lights as they go. Ashley is still knitting her fingers together, not really looking at any one thing, as they move into the hallway.

“Hanna will be fine,” Mona says after a moment. “Spencer’s like a bulldog. She won’t let anything happen to her.”

Ashley looks up, her expression softening. “I hope so. Do you think—” She cuts herself off, murmuring, “Never mind.”

“Do I think there’s something going on between Hanna and Spencer?” Mona fills in smoothly. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”

Ashley offers her a half-embarrassed smile. “I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. I don’t know everything that happened between you and Hanna.”

“Nothing happened,” Mona replies automatically. “But I appreciate your sensitivity.”

Ashley catches her eye and nods. Mona gets it, whatever she’s trying to communicate. She feels a bit warmer. 

“Let’s check some classrooms, shall we?” she suggests, shaking off the emotion. She opens up a classroom door, flicking on a light. No one there. 

The next classroom has a couple of items stashed in it, Mona remembers. It was her junior French classroom, and she liked to keep some magic stuff around to help her learn the conjugations faster. She goes inside and checks under the loose tile beneath her old desk. Aha, exactly where she left them: an orb and a pocket spell book.

“What’d you find?” Ashley asks from behind her.

Mona holds up the items. “Might be able to help with the protection spell.”

“How long have those been in there?” Ashley wonders, brow furrowed.

Mona shrugs. “A while,” she replies simply.

Ashley says nothing, stepping forward to the next room. Mona expects an “All clear!” report, but instead Ashley yelps in surprise. 

“Ashley!” Mona exclaims. “Are you okay?” 

Ashley whirls around at the doorway, fixing Mona with a hard stare. “Give me five minutes, okay?” she implores. “If I’m not out by then, come on in.”

“What’s going on?” Mona asks.

“Something I have to take care of,” Ashley replies, marching into the room and closing the door.

As subtly as she can, Mona arches her neck to peer in the room’s little window. Inside, she sees Ashley leaning against a desk, talking with none other than Mary Drake. 

Ashley has her hand on the stake in her back pocket, but she doesn’t look terrified. Rather, she looks just a little apprehensive. Mary appears to be pleading with her. There’s no trace of the vampire who attacked in Jason’s hotel room. Mona watches as Mary comes closer and actually caresses Ashley’s cheek. 

 _Hmm_.

Mona observes for another minute before the lights flicker above her and she feels a rumbling beneath her feet. The rumbling gets stronger as the building starts to shake. Not just the building; it’s like the _world_ is shaking. The orb lurches out of her hand, shattering on the floor. 

 _Shit._  

Mona crouches down to the ground, gripping at the linoleum floor as she hears things start to tumble and crack, catches the sound of someone screaming. Nothing is stable—everything is moving and she’s powerless to stop it. 

Just what they need. A goddamn earthquake.


	32. The Center Can Not Hold

The world goes from normal to disaster movie in the space of a few heartbeats.  One moment, Ella is walking down the school hallway towards the library, and the next she’s on the ground watching the walls tremble and covering her head to fend off falling debris.

The rumbling noise is loud, like a deep bass line that’s vibrating all the way into the earth’s core.  She can feel tremors rippling through the floor, as if it’s not just shaking the foundation of the building, but of the whole town.

She looks around for Byron, sees that he’s braced himself in the middle of a doorway, which Ella belatedly remembers as something you’re supposed to do.  She turns her face towards the wall, which has alarming cracks sprouting up it, as the light fixtures start to shatter, coating the hallway with sparks and shards of glass.

There’s a whoosh of dust filling the hallway and chunks of cinder block skittering down the corridor.  Ella peeks between her fingers and realizes a big chunk of the ceiling must have caved in, not fifty feet away.

The worst of the tremor seems to be subsiding.  Unless it’s wishful thinking that the noise of bookshelves toppling is almost as loud as the waning rumble - but no, it’s definitely dying down.

She sits up and tries to take stock of the situation.  She has a stinging scrape on her forearm and her right pant leg is torn and bloody.  There might be bruises blossoming on her torso, but they don’t hurt yet, either due to shock or adrenalin.  

“Are you okay?” she ask Byron, as he steps forward to survey the damage.

“I hope you’re happy now,” he responds, tersely.  “Come to the school, you said.  Aria’s in trouble, it’ll be safe there.  So much for safety!”

She stares at him in disbelief.  “This was an _earthquake_ , Byron.  I didn’t know it was coming.  I know you wanted to stay home and read Gibbons and sip Scotch and wear your slippers, but I’m pretty sure it would have disrupted your night either way.”

He looks at her scornfully and doesn’t respond.   She examines her elbow, trying to feel for any pieces of glass.  Maybe his anger is a defense mechanism against being scared.  Or maybe he’s just being a total jerk.  

There’s a shuffling noise from inside the library.

“Hello?” a polite voice calls out, coughing a bit on the plaster dust.  “Is anyone out there?”

Rupert Giles bustles into view and immediately helps her to her feet.  Byron scowls.

“Is Aria here?” he asks, brusquely.

“No, not at the moment, I’m afraid.  She’s with her other - um - friends, at the moment.”

“Aria doesn’t have other friends,” Byron says, in a tone of great ill usage.  He turns toward her an accusatory look distorting his features.  “Did Ashley really call you to come here?  Or was it your new tweedy paramour?”

“Para-what?” Giles responds, nervously.

“Byron, don’t be silly,” Ella says, as she uses Giles’ handkerchief to stanch the bleeding from her knee.  “Big things are happening here.  Much bigger than your petty jealousy.”  It’s so like him, really.  To want to beat his chest in the middle of an emergency.  He’s never been especially good in a crisis.

“Our daughter shouldn’t be out there alone,” Byron insists.  “Where is she?”

“She’ll be here quite soon,” Giles says, trying to smooth things over.  “In the meantime, let’s get out of the hallway, shall we?”  There’s a chasm that seems to be growing from where the roof caved in.  Byron may not like it, but he nods and follows them through the double doors.  

“Normally I’d offer you some tea,” Giles suggests.  “But we’ll have to suspend the pleasantries under the current circumstances, I think.”  He moves a pile of books aside and rights and overturned chair for Ella to sit in.  Then he pulls out a handkerchief to dust off an ornate crucifix.  

“Show us to the nearest exit,” Byron growls.  It’s Giles’ turn to frown.  His expression moves from flustered to somewhat alarmed.

“Aria is safe,” he declares.  “We need to ensure our own safety for the moment.  It’s not just the earthquake - the storm outside is strengthening.  Once the weather breaks - I’m sure she’ll be joining us.”

“I can handle a thunderstorm,” Byron says dismissively.  “Ella?”

An emergency system siren goes off in the distance, a droning recorded voice advising the populous to shelter in place.  But her husband isn’t listening.

“What are you going to do?” she asks.  “ Run through the streets looking for her?  We’re here.  If Giles says she’ll be here soon, this is our best bet for finding her.”

“Do what you want,” he snaps.  “I’ll take the keys.”

“We’re caved in here,” Ella protests.  But Byron stomps across the library and smashes out a partially broken window, throwing her a last angry look as he storms out.

“I’m sorry,” Ella tells Giles.

“Don’t be,” he replies, as he drags one of the fallen bookshelves in front of the makeshift exit.  “This should do for now, but I’m afraid the earthquake might have broken some of the wards that Willow was setting up.”

“Wards?”

“Protective spells.  Alison and Mona had some basic ones in place around the building, and Willow strengthened them to act as something of a force field.  Now that we’re cut off from the rest of the building, I thought I might have a go.  Better safe than sorry, and all that.”

How nice.  A man with an actual plan.

She spends the next ten minutes setting out spell ingredients from Giles’ briefcase and flipping through a few of the spell books on the table.

“Forgive the intrusion,” Giles says, sounding a bit more starched and possibly even more British than usual.  “But have you and - Byron - been married long?”

“We were college sweethearts, but we separated when Aria was in high school,” she says.  “His behavior - he’d become a different man than the one I married.  I thought we’d found our way back to each other.  But sometimes it’s the same problems, dressed up in a new suit.”  She sighs.  “What about you?  Have you ever been married?”

“No.  Being a Watcher, it doesn’t lend itself well to relationships.”

There’s something in the way he says it, a tinge of sadness that seems to hint there could be more to the story.  Maybe one that got away.  Interesting.

“Which book are we using?” she asks, trying to break the tension in the air.  “I would have paid much more attention in Latin if I’d known it could turn my enemies entrails into snakes.”   

“Oh!” Giles says, seeming a bit embarrassed.  “I had those there to prop up this newfangled tablet device.”

“We’re doing a spell off your Ipad?”

“Well, I’m using Willow’s spell, you see.  And she has a tutorial on this one on her YouTube channel.”  He adjusts his glasses.  “She has quite a following, I gather.  Among young lesbian witches.”

Ella nods.  “Kids these days.”

“Yes,” Giles smiles.  “Exactly.”

He pulls up the video and they watch together.  No wonder she has so many fans, Willow explains the details of the spell with a goofy charm, sometimes rambling off in a long aside about the history of protective magics or the importance of backing up your spell with serious self defense lessons and good stake work.  Giles follows her instructions exactly, frowning in concentration as if he’s watching Julia Child deboning a duck.  Just as the chanting portion is about to start, Ella hears a snarling noise from what’s left of the stacks.  Three vampires are advancing on them, fangs bared.  She motions for Giles to keep going, as she heaves a hardcover edition of _Moby Dick_  at their leader.  It hits him full in the face, knocking him back into the vampire behind him.  She rifles through the pages of the spell book for the entrails curse she was looking at earlier, but she can’t find it again.  There is one with a picture of fire that looks promising.  

“Incendio!” she shouts, pointing at the vampires.  Unfortunately, it’s the book that bursts into flames.  Undaunted, she throws it at the vampire gang as well.  It catches the shirt of the third vampire on fire, and he trips over the other two as he tries to stop drop and roll.  The three of them end up in a fiery tangle that ends with a big pile of ash and Ella using the fire extinguisher to put out the remainder of the blaze.

Giles finishes the spell and beams at her.  “Well done!”

From the windows, they watch two more vampires charge at the building before being thrown back by an invisible force field.  “And you,” Ella smiles.  “What do we do now?”

Giles sits down amid the remaining spell books.  He opens one and recites a quick incantation that summons an electric kettle.

“Could I offer you a cup of tea?”


	33. Shake Up

Faith stakes a vamp smoothly, two feet in front of Buffy.  So close that the dust cloud almost makes her sneeze, leaves a fine powder on the elbow of her jacket.

“You good, B?” she asks, trying a little too hard to sound casual.  Like she doesn’t know exactly how Buffy feels about earthquakes.  Even after all this time, she still hears The Master’s voice in her ear, feels his blood breath against her ear.

“I’m fine,” Buffy insists, a little too forcefully.  She grabs a ceramic lawn gnome and uses it to beat a Carnyss demon unconscious.  “I don’t need a babysitter.  I could mount a rescue mission in my sleep.”

“You never miss this?  The two of us takin’ on the mean streets together?”

Buffy hides a small smile.  “Kicking ass and taking names.”

“Never cared much about names.” Faith shrugs.  “Kicking ass and impaling things, on the other hand -”  She picks up a tire iron from the trunk of a parked car that’s half in a chasm and spears a frog faced demon in the head.

Buffy looks at the other Slayer closely, feeling like she’s missing something.  Maybe whatever this conversation is supposed to be about. Not that she and Faith don’t talk.  Although, now that she thinks about it, lately it’s more like Buffy talks and Faith nods or grunts or puts her feet up on the counter with a surly look on her face.      

“You ever miss Sunnydale?” Faith asks, checking her fingernails for damage as Buffy stakes two vamps with a downed tree branch.  She’s not showing off, exactly.  She just likes to keep it interesting. Try to earn points for style.

“Sometimes, I guess,” Buffy answers.  It’s hard to be nostalgic for a place that was continually trying its best to kill you.  Still, for better or for worse, it’s where she grew up.  Where she made real friends.  Where she met Willow.  “I did die there. Twice.  And I miss my red leather boots that I didn’t have room to pack.”

She thinks about the last year of patrols.  How she would start at Tara’s grave, end at her mom’s.  

“Why do you ask?” she asks, curiously, watching Faith grab a street sign that’s blown over to slice off the head of another vamp.

“Dunno,” Faith grunts, kicking a Polgara demon into the windshield of a parked car.  “This place reminds me of it a little.”

“The comforting small town Hellmouth vibe?  Makes you feel like home?”

“Something like that.”

“Something like Mona?”  Buffy thinks about how Faith looked anxiously back at the top floor of the high school as they took off to be the Spencer and Hanna rescue brigade.  Mona, of course, had already tapped out a signal in Morse Code to let everyone know that she and Ashley were secure and unhurt, and working on an emergency communications infrastructure.

Faith smirks as she knifes a demon with bad fashion sense.  “A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”

Buffy snorts.  “As if I haven’t spent years listening to you brag about your conquests.”  As if she hasn’t been one of them.

“Yeah, well.  Maybe this is different.”

Buffy does a back handspring and snaps the neck of an attacking vampire.  “Wow.  Faith, that’s - that’s amazing.”  She remembers the series of hard conversations the two of them had when their three months of loose togetherness - most of which were Buffy talking about the future and Faith looking like she was having trouble breathing.  It wasn’t even her fault.  It was like, Slayer hard-wiring. You stop imagining growing old with somebody when you figure you’ll be dead before you’re twentieth birthday.  That’s one of the best things about Willow.  Except for that time she tried to end the world, she’s never stopped hoping for a better future.

“You’re not jealous, are you?”

Buffy shakes her head.  “I’m happier than I ever thought I could be.  You deserve that, too.”

The Hastings house is just around the corner.  “Are you thinking of sticking around?  Once this is over?”

“I mean, my first plan is to not die.  After that, we’ll see.”

“Well, she’s lucky.  And if she hurts you, I’ll have Will knock her over the head with a shovel.”

“Thanks, B,” Faith says, smiling like she really means it.  She jumps lightly over another chasm in the street.  Buffy follows.

“You think they’re making out in there?” she asks.  

Faith laughs.  “If they’re not, we can swing back in ten minutes.”

There’s an emergency siren in the distance, and Buffy sees guys in fatigues evacuating civilians.  She does a double take, realizing they aren’t carrying regular guns.  They’re armed with Initiative style blasters.   


	34. Tick Tock, Witches

“Get away from the window,” Jenna says chidingly, holding her cane up to tap against the glass. “You never know if there could be aftershocks.”

Aria does as she’s told, eyeing the cane in Jenna’s hand. She understands, now, why Jenna pretends to be blind: it’s a self-preservation technique. Maybe if Aria herself had honed those skills more sharply, she wouldn’t be in this current situation. And though Jenna’s insistence on continuing to carry around the cane even when she’s not faking—frequently using it as a conversational accessory—still creeps Aria out, she kind of gets that too. She admires Jenna’s ability to keep spinning her weakness into strength. Aria doesn’t know why it took her so long to appreciate that skill.

“Are you worried about the schedule?” Aria asks, kneeling down on one of the plush floor cushions. She checks her phone again, even though it hasn’t been working since the earthquake. Lots of messages from her friends still, as well as a text from A.D. simply reading, _I’ve got my eye on you and your pals—old and new. See you soon!_ It’s from earlier today, and she’s chosen to ignore it.

“No, I’m not worried,” Jenna replies. Aria’s pretty sure she’s lying. Despite Jenna’s earlier warning, she peers out the window. Aria follows her line of sight, unsure if she’s looking for Noel or someone else.

“I’ve been practicing,” Aria tells her. “I think I’m getting stronger.”

“You are.” Jenna takes one last look around before pulling the velvet drapes shut. She turns around. Aria still finds herself started by Jenna’s eyes, so shockingly green and charged with intensity. 

Jenna swans over to the small record player set against one of the walls, lifting the needle onto a record already in place. Violin music starts to play, somber and familiar. That sound still sets Aria’s teeth on edge. 

“This little earthquake isn’t going to change a thing,” Jenna says. “We’re still on time. We’re still doing everything as planned.”

Aria purses her lips. “And I’m still not sure what you mean when you say that.”

Jenna sighs. “I’ve already explained it: you know exactly as much as you should right now. I’m not being intentionally difficult, Aria. This is powerful magic. I’m working hard to protect us all.”

“When you say all—”

Noel bursts in the door just then with a loud, “Hey!” He’s drenched head-to-toe, but he looks like himself. 

“I hope you ladies didn’t start the party without me.” He smirks at them, peeling off his rain slicker, then snaps his fingers and rattles off some Latin. His shirt and pants are instantly dry, his hair coiffed and perfect-looking again.

Jenna’s calm demeanor seems to evaporate. “Where have you been?” she demands, storming over to him. “I thought you might be underneath a car!”

“Nah, the Marin girls haven’t been out driving,” Noel quips, shooting Aria a rather phony-looking apologetic smile.

Jenna ignores his comment, leaning forward to whisper in his ear. All Aria can hear is the low hiss of letters bouncing off one another, like the murmurings of a snake. She _hates_ that sound.

“I’m getting pretty tired of people keeping secrets,” Aria tells them from her spot on the floor. “Ezra. Alison. Emily. _You guys_.”

“We’re not like them, Aria,” Jenna insists. “We’re not keeping things from you because we think you can’t handle it. We’re not treating you like a child. We actually understand your power.”

“Mmm hmm,” Noel agrees. “You’re a pretty important piece of the puzzle.”

Aria frowns. She feels oddly emotional all of a sudden, tears starting to prick the corners of her eyes. “If you could just tell me…”

“You girls never have the patience for anything,” Noel says lowly.

“Except for me,” Jenna counters. “I’ve spent my whole life waiting.”

Aria looks between them both. So full of secrets and pain, those two.

“Let’s get it all together,” Jenna suggests. She clearly wants this conversation to be done. “Time to get everything back on track.”

“Speaking of time,” Noel says. “The earthquake may have impacted that.”

“What?” Jenna says.

“Yeah, it seems our window may be closing,” Noel replies. He doesn’t look too concerned, but Jenna is instantly furious.

“And you’re just telling me this _now_ , like you forgot an item off the grocery list?!” she exclaims. “How much time do we have?”

“I don’t know exactly!” Noel says defensively. “It’s not like I’ve done this before.”

“The timing is critical, Noel! I don’t want to waste five years of work!”

Noel closes his eyes, as though doing some calculations. “I’d say we’ve lost about three days.”

“Three _days_?!” Jenna replies incredulously. “That means…”

“I know,” he says. 

“We have to go _now,_ ” Jenna realizes.

“Will someone please tell me what exactly you’re talking about?” Aria begs.

“No time,” Jenna snaps. She abruptly stops the music and tugs on a tan jacket that Aria knows she’s seen before. Though strangely, not on Jenna herself. “We have to get going.” 

“We’re not supposed to go outside,” Aria reminds them.

“Screw it,” Noel replies. “I’ve got plenty of magic mojo to keep us going.” He turns to Jenna. “Gather your things.”

“Wait!” Aria exclaims, shooting up from her seat. “I’m not leaving until someone explains in detail what I’m going to be expected to do!” She feels the contents of her stomach sloshing, her eyes still watery. Her whole body is buzzing, but not in the exhilarating way she’s become accustomed to.

Jenna and Noel turn to look at her in unison, their expressions stony. Aria’s breath catches; she hasn’t felt fear like that since the night Ezra died. She’s suddenly certain they could kill her with just their eyes.

“Open up in there!” comes a voice from outside all of a sudden. British, and disgruntled. “The little bird is coming with me!” 


	35. Where There's a Way In, There's a Way Out

Spencer is in the barn, preparing three mugs of coffee with Kahlua, when the message comes through. Well, “message” might be putting it mildly. The legal pad she keeps by the fridge starts writing on itself with Spencer’s fountain pen. She startles back before the writer identifies themselves as Willow, communicating via magic. 

Spencer doesn’t know if she’ll ever get used to this being the new normal.

“Uh, guys?” Spencer calls to Melissa and Hanna, balancing the legal pad on top of the tray of drinks as she makes her way into the living room.

“Yeah?” Hanna replies from the couch.

“I’m getting a message from Willow. Buffy is going to try and get to us, but for now she’s working on a protection spell,” Spencer reports, eyes widening as she sets the tray down to read aloud. 

“Okay,” Hanna replies, sounding distracted. She stands up and lights a few more candles. Spencer can tell she’s freaked out, but she doesn’t blame her. There’s currently a tree through what appears to be the kitchen of the Hastings house. The power is out, there’s a howling noise outside that sounds suspiciously like some kind of demon getting closer, and their only means of communication have been reduced to enchanted pieces of paper. 

“How long is a protection spell going to hold?” Melissa asks from her spot behind the couch, arms folded. She was already in the barn when Spencer and Hanna arrived, but she doesn’t seem particularly happy to be there.

Spencer looks back down. As if on cue, Willow is answering that question. “She says it should hold for at least a few hours. By that point we’ll hopefully be out of here.” Willow signs off, reporting that she has work to do.

Spencer sweeps her gaze around the living room. All things considered, it could be a lot worse. Despite the damage to the main house, the barn wasn’t too badly impacted by the earthquake. The candles and the fireplace make the room feel pretty cozy, and Spencer is just so supremely grateful that no one was in the house when the tree came through. And Hanna is here, which is… 

It’s a good thing, ultimately. If Hanna _wasn’t_ here, Spencer would be going absolutely out of her mind with worry. But there’s also nowhere to hide now. No one to deflect off of besides Melissa, who doesn’t appear very eager to hang out with them.

“What do you guys want to do?” Spencer asks. “I’m sure I’ve got a deck of cards around here somewhere.”

Melissa rolls her eyes. “Cards, Spencer? Really? Why not jump straight to Truth or Dare?” 

“What else are we supposed to do?” Spencer counters. 

Melissa scowls. “Well, while you two get comfy in your little love nest, I’m going to use whatever battery I have left on my laptop to try and get some work done.”

“What kind of work?” Hanna asks. 

Melissa narrows her eyes. “That would be none of your business.” She scoops her laptop up and fixes Spencer with a glare. “I can go in your room, right?”

“By all means,” Spencer replies tightly.

Melissa grabs her coffee on the way out, tossing a terse, “Thanks,” over her shoulder.

Spencer exhales and reaches for her own coffee. Hanna is still standing awkwardly near the candles, biting her lip. 

“Wanna play cards?” Spencer offers.

Hanna smiles, slightly. “Not really.”

Spencer shrugs. “Should we sit?”

Hanna nods and comes to sit beside her on the couch. Spencer takes a long sip of her coffee and leans her head back against the cushions.

“My parents’ house has a tree in it,” she remarks.

Hanna leans back as well. “I’m sorry, Spence.”

Spencer chuckles lowly. “No, it’s okay. I mean, in the grand scheme of things, it’s—it’s property damage. It isn’t death, it isn’t vampires, it isn’t even a bad breakup.”

Hanna shifts so that’s she’s more directly facing Spencer, her body curled toward her on the couch. “Do you miss Caleb?” she asks quietly.

Spencer shrugs. “I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “I guess I miss having someone to come home to, but we were that to each other for such a short period of time. I sort of feel like there’s been so much going on, it’s hard to find time to miss someone. What about you?”

“A part of me always will, I think. But not in a big way.” Her eyes move over Spencer’s face, and _God_ , they’re suddenly really close on the couch, and the candlelight seems much less practical and more suggestive than it did before. 

“I have a confession to make,” Hanna says, “About the visions.”

Spencer nods. Her heart is in her throat. “Okay.”

“I did have one before I was kidnapped,” Hanna murmurs. “It was of someone kissing Caleb, and then getting taken at the Lost Woods. I didn’t really understand it, but I was so worried that it was about you. And I guess I thought—maybe I could sort of take the bullet, y’know? Like if I kissed him, it would change the story. It wouldn’t be you who got hurt, it would be me.” She rolls her eyes, sniffling a little. “Well, I guess we _all_ ended up hurt on that one.”

Spencer blinks. “You did that for me?”

Hanna nods. “I know you’d do the same for me.”

“I would,” Spencer replies immediately. She feels a bit shaky as she leans forward, setting her coffee cup on the table. “Han, you’ve had some visions recently, right?”

“I’m having a lot of them now, it seems,” Hanna acknowledges.

Spencer pulls her knees into her body and wraps her arms around them. “Ones about me, I mean.” She wants to say _Ones about us_ , but she doesn’t dare. Not just yet.

Hanna’s cheeks have pinked slightly, and Spencer’s guessing it isn’t just from the fire. “Yeah,” she replies. 

“What have you seen?”

“Spencer,” Hanna says warningly. “I don’t even know what they mean, half the time.”

“So tell me, then, and we can figure it out together. You said it’s like watching a black and white movie?”

“Yeah,” Hanna replies. “Like those film noir movies you and Aria like. All shadows and wet pavement.”

“ _Down these mean streets, a man must go, who is not he himself mean_ ,” Spencer recites, without really thinking about it.

Hanna looks up at her sharply. “What did you just say?”

“Oh, it’s a quote. Raymond Chandler.”

Hanna narrows her eyes. “You said that. Or, a version of it. In one of my visions.”

Spencer quirks an eyebrow. “That’s strange. Maybe you heard me say it before one time.”

“Maybe,” Hanna echoes softly, before her eyes get that vacant, glassy look about them. The vision look. Then she’s back in a flash, visibly trembling.

Spencer wants to reach for her, but she thinks about what could happen. About what’s already happened. Hanna’s surely learned too much from touching her already, every little flash of desire that Spencer’s spent the last few months confusedly trying to stomp out. So instead she says, “Are you okay?”

Hanna nods, but it isn’t particularly convincingly. “I saw someone’s face. It was a vision I’ve had before, but a different angle, or something.” She closes her eyes and drops her head back, as though the room is spinning. “God, I could almost make it out. I know I know who it was!”

“You couldn’t quite see it?”

“No,” Hanna replies. “The face was like a puzzle. I saw the person. It was a woman. But her face was in pieces, like a glass someone threw on the ground.” Her voice sounds frayed, a little panicked.

“Okay,” Spencer says evenly. “We can put the pieces together, right? What were the distinguishing characteristics?”

“Long, dark hair,” Hanna says.

“Mary?” Spencer prompts. “Maybe me?”

Hanna shakes her head, blinking rapidly. “No,” she says, sounding miserable. “God, I hate this! I hate this! I have this…this _thing_ in me, and maybe it’s helping us or maybe it’s leading us astray but I just don’t know, because there’s no freakin’ rhyme or reason to it! And even when I get something that seems like a clue, I still don’t know what it means!”

“Hanna—”

“And it’s just like—why couldn’t I have superpowers or whatever like Ali and my mom do?” Hanna continues, jumping up and starting to pace. “ _That_ has a clear purpose, and that can help people! Instead I have this weird little vision-y thing that happens sometimes and doesn’t happen other times and all it seems to do is start arguments and confuse me! It’s like I’m trying to speak a language but nobody’s taught me any of the words!”

“ _Hanna_!” Spencer exclaims. “It’s okay.” Hanna stops pacing. Her eyes, so blue, seem to bore into Spencer. “Look, we’ll figure it out. Just—take my hand.”

Spencer stands up and makes her way over to Hanna, extending a hand in her direction. Hanna looks at it suspiciously, as though Spencer is offering her a weapon. Spencer tries not to think about the fact that she hasn’t intentionally touched Hanna in weeks. Except that it’s all she can think about.

“Spencer…” Hanna says softly.

“Just do it,” Spencer instructs. “C’mon. Take my hand and breathe.”

Hanna does so, immediately closing her eyes. Spencer uses the opportunity to study her, noticing every twitch of Hanna’s face, searching for evidence of whatever she’s seeing. Maybe all of Spencer’s secrets are spilling into her head. A part of Spencer hopes they are.

Hanna’s eyes pop open. “Jenna!” she proclaims. “The face was Jenna! And I think she was with Aria!”

Spencer smiles. “Okay! You did it!”

Hanna’s brow furrows. “I’m pretty sure she was up to something bad.”

“She usually is,” Spencer replies. “We’ll call Aria.” She glances down at their hands. Hanna hasn’t let go. “Did you see anything else?”

Hanna gives her an odd look. “Not about Aria.”

Spencer’s stomach swoops. “About what, then?”

Hanna holds their clasped hands up, running a thumb over the back of Spencer’s fingers. “Well, if my visions are an old movie, you’re sort of like the femme fatal.”

“ _Fatale_ ,” Spencer corrects automatically, then adds, “Not the detective?”

Hanna shakes her head. “No. You don’t do much detecting in them.”

Spencer swallows, hard. “Then what do I do?”

In another room Melissa is probably plotting their demise, and outside is a steady hum of chaos and ambulance sirens. The world might be falling to pieces, but Spencer doesn’t register any of it. All she can focus on is the thud of her own heartbeat, and the way candlelight is dancing off of Hanna’s face and through her hair.

“You do _this_ , Spencer,” Hanna whispers, and then she kisses her.

Spencer is frozen for exactly three seconds, and then she kisses Hanna back deeply, letting go of her hand to pull her tight around the waist. Hanna winds her own arms around Spencer’s neck, tangling a hand in Spencer’s hair. It’s everything Spencer would expect from kissing Hanna, and it’s somehow better than anything she could have imagined.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” Spencer admits when they pull apart.

Hanna giggles softly against her mouth, cupping her cheek to wipe at a tear Spencer didn’t know she had shed. “The visions were right.”

Spencer nods dumbly. She doesn’t know what to say, so she kisses Hanna again, hard, tasting the salt of her tears mixed with coffee and Kahlua and something else that she’s going to just name Hanna.

Then a loud tapping sound rings through the room, and they reluctantly break apart. Melissa is standing near the couch, looking at them sternly and holding a knife against her coffee cup. “Sorry to spoil the fun, but I think our rescue brigade has arrived.” She gestures toward the window, where Buffy and Faith are waving and smiling.

Spencer goes to open the door and Hanna moves with her, an arm wrapped around Spencer and her chin tucked behind Spencer’s shoulder. The contact feels amazing. 

“We’re here to save you!” Buffy announces. “But also, congrats on all the kissing!”

“Took you guys long enough,” Faith says with a smirk.

Spencer feels herself flush. “Not exactly how I pictured this going,” she mutters.

“How did you picture it?” Hanna murmurs against Spencer’s shoulder.

“You guys will hopefully have all sorts of time to figure that out,” Buffy cuts in. “But for now, we have to get back to the school.”

“Why?” Hanna asks.

“Well, Initiative guys have arrived, for one,” Faith tells them.

“Initiative?” Spencer echoes in confusion.

Melissa steps forward. “That’s the least of our concern,” she says with a sigh, turning to face Buffy and Faith. “I think the N.A.T. Club is planning on opening the Hellmouth.”


	36. Moonshadow

In the minutes after the earthquake hits, Alison feels like she’s in a nightmare of action hero montage moments.  She’s busy making sure everyone currently pinned down in her classroom is okay.  Willow has a scrape on her arm.  Charlotte got hit on the head by falling debris.  Emily is covered in dust, and has a few pieces of glass in her hair, but she’s fine.  They’re lucky.

Willow’s magic is able to stabilize the structure.  It’s storming like crazy outside.  Aria is out there somewhere. Hanna and Spencer are out there.  Vulnerable.  Unprotected.  Buffy and Faith are somewhere in the building, along with Ashley and Mona and Giles.  Maybe safe.  Maybe not.

She resists drumming her fingers on the windowpane.  She doesn’t want Emily to see how nervous she is.  She goes out into the ruins of the hallway and starts trying to move some of the rocks.

\--------

Two hours after the earthquake hits, Mona Vanderwaal’s voice comes over the PA system, which she’s managed to transform into a shortwave radio comm channel.  This is how they learn that she and Ashley are in a secure location on the other side of the building, but blocked in by a few collapsed pillars.  That Giles and Ella are having a tea party with spells in the old library.  That Spike disappeared right before the quake hit, on a solo mission of his own.  Faith and Buffy went out to find Spencer and Hanna.  No word since they left, Mona mentions, her voice oddly tight.

Willow’s face is calm.  Serene, under the circumstances.  Emily pats her on the back.

“They’re fine,” Willow assures her.  “If anything happened to Buffy, I’d know.”

Emily meets Ali’s eyes over Willow’s shoulder in a way that makes her heart pound erratically in her chest, makes her stomach feel fluttery and fourteen.  As if she thinks maybe they could have a connection like that.  Alison swallows hard.  As if maybe they already do.

\----------

Four hours after the earthquake, she’s got enough of the rubble shifted to give them access to the teacher’s lounge.  Charlotte hacks the vending machines and Willow conjures a small magical fire for them to cook some Ramen.  They sit cross legged around the fire, Emily leaning against Alison’s shoulder.

“What’s Charlotte up to?” Emily asks, watching her splice some wires from the inner workings of the microwave.

“She and Mona are going to link to a satellite, then link Faith’s cell to a satellite, then call her to find out where they are.”

“Wow,” Emily says.  “My big plan was to use a Snickers bar to make a S’more.”

She squeezes Alison’s hand, which is chaffed from all the rubble shifting.  Alison kisses the top of her forehead.

\------------

Six hours after the earthquake, the makeshift satellite signal works.  Buffy and Faith are with Spencer and Hanna, sheltering in place at the barn.  The streets are full of vampire activity, and they’re waiting for first light before trying to reconvene.

The aftershocks have subsided, but there’s more rumbling in the streets.  Tanks and trucks.  The National Guard swooping in to help with the emergency.  They haven’t made it to the school yet.  

From somewhere above them, Mona signals the Guard with a makeshift camping lantern.

\--------------

Eleven hours after the earthquake, the first rays of sunlight are reaching through the window.  Alison hasn’t slept.  She’s stayed awake and alert, watching over the others.  She’s spent the last three hours watching the steady rhythmic rise and fall of Emily’s chest, listening to the beat of her heart, the adorable tiny snores that sometimes sound from the back of her throat.

With all of the running they’ve done - away from each other, towards each other, away from danger, straight into danger’s mouth - it feels like the first time in years that Alison’s had a chance to pause long enough to reflect on what it all means.

She watches the sun rise out the window.  The storm has blown out, the sky is a beautiful panorama of pinks and purples.  The light touches Emily’s hair, and Alison’s heart swells with love and adoration and gratitude and a bone deep certainty about their future together.

Emily yawns and blinks sleepily.  

“Hey,” she says, stretching a little and sitting up.  Alison pulls her back towards her, not ready to give up their closeness.  Emily smiles and snuggles into her shoulder.

“Emily,” Alison says, her voice hushed.

“Ali.”  She can hear the contentment and trust in that one syllable, and her heart skips a beat.  This is right.  It’s always been right.

“It has to mean something,” Alison says.

“What does?” Emily asks, her eyes still half closed.

“My whole life,” Alison says.  “Everyone was always leaving.  I grew up thinking - I don’t know, that that’s just what people do.  When things got tough - I did it, too.  But it didn’t work.  Not really.  There were people here I couldn’t leave behind.  One person I couldn’t live without.  No matter how hard I tried.  We’ve been dancing around each other for so many years, Em - but at the end of the day - we can’t know what the future holds, but I know that if I have you by my side, it’s going to be incredible.”

There’s enough of the old Emily, fourteen year old Emily, left inside the woman in her arms that she still ducks her head shyly when she blushes.  But her eyes are trained on Alison’s, looking a little wet beneath the lashes.  “Are you asking me a question?”

The last pieces of fourteen year old Alison rise up from somewhere deep inside her, pulling her mouth into her trademark smirk.  The one that’s made Emily Fields weak in the knees for almost a decade.  “I am,” she purrs.  Then she gets serious, rests her forehead against Emily’s.

“I love you.  Every day that I’m with you, it surprises me.  How deep it goes.  How much my heart can feel for you.  All the ways we’re better and stronger together.”

There’s a noise outside, like something is scraping against the exterior walls.  Alison doesn’t even care what kind of monster it is.  She can get to it in a minute.  This moment is the moment.  She’s never been more sure.

“Emily,” she takes a deep breath.  “Will you marry me?”

There’s a clatter from the window and the sound of shattering glass.

There’s a shadow looming in the window frame, a helmeted soldier in full combat gear and goggles, a grappling hook and rope line in one hand.  He takes off the headgear and his face breaks into a wide smile.  

Emily looks like she might actually faint with happiness as she chokes out a sob and throws herself into his arms.  “Dad!”


	37. Real This Time

She’s dreaming.  She has to be.  She used to have dreams like this all the time.  She’s failing a physiology test, but then her dad walks in and knows all the answers.  She’s tending bar and the guy that she hasn’t been able to get to on the far end of the patio turns around and it’s her dad.  She’s in an empty hallway near the registrar’s office at Pepperdine and the walls start closing in and she screams and then her dad shows up.

Except there’s a twinge in her shoulder from sleeping on the floor, nestled against Alison.  And Ali’s hand is warm and solid against hers.  Before she can think of anything else, she throws herself across the the room and he scoops her into a hard hug that presses her against his flak jacket, and she’s crying because it’s not a dream.  He’s _real_.  He’s here.  “Dad!”

It feels like time has stopped.  Nothing else exists except the familiarity of his voice as he strokes her hair and calls her Emmy.  The hug probably only lasts a minute or two, but it feels like the past three years of missing him are wrapped tightly inside it.  There’s no space for questions or answers or anything that isn’t this huge wave of love and relief and pure joy that’s washing over her.  She closes her eyes and focuses on the sound of his heartbeat, steady and strong, the feel of his damp collar against her ear.

“They told us it was an IED,” she tells him. “They gave us a folded flag and awarded you a bronze star for valor.  We - we buried it.”  Alison rubs her back soothingly.  Her dad’s face is a grimace of pain, but his eyes are as kind as they’ve ever been.

“Five years ago, they asked me to take charge of a special black ops group.  Top secret.  Demon fighters.  We were captured in Central America during an attempted hostage rescue three years ago.  When we missed our scheduled extraction, they assumed we were KIA.”

“I wanted to be back here.  I thought about you every day.  They had us working in a labor camp in some kind of hell dimension.  Even if we could escape the grounds, we had no idea how to get back to this plane of existence.  Finally, last week, the magics around our holding area broke down.  We found an old portal that we were able to reactivate and made it out.  They had us in an intense debriefing for days.  I’d probably still be there if Veronica Hastings hadn’t started calling in favors and insisting there was about to be a Hellmouth related disaster in her district.  I’m a local.  I’m familiar with the area.  They gave me three extra platoons and a promise for six months leave once we’re done here.  My unit took over command of emergency operations and policing last night.”  He hesitates, then continues.  “I saw your mother at the station.  I never meant for the two of you to suffer like this.”  

His radio crackles again with a sharp warning about the structural instability of the building.  He keeps a hand on her shoulder, but steps away enough to take stock of their situation.  Down below, the soldiers are hoisting ladders and pulleys and she can see Mona and Ashley being lowered to the ground.  Giles and Ella are already down below, it looks like there’s a command post and first aid station being set up for the rescued.  The town itself looks so different, buildings askew, fissures cracking the streets, familiar houses crumbled in on themselves.  

It all seems unreal.  Like the whole planet is tilting on its axis.  But maybe the worst is over.  Maybe the earthquake was last gasp of Hellmouth related activity and now all they have to do is rebuild.  

Here in the ruin of the teacher’s lounge, Charlotte and Willow and Alison are clustered together at a polite distance.  Charlotte is peering avidly over their heads as Ali actively tries to distract her enough to give Emily a small slice of privacy.  

_Ali._   Who maybe just _proposed_.  Emily doesn’t leave her father’s side, but she keeps her eyes on Ali, willing her to turn around and at least make eye contact.  When she finally does, her eyes look a little wet but she flashes a reassuring smile.  

She comes over and squeezes Emily’s hand.  “We’re ready to move whenever you give the word, Colonel.”  It’s weird hearing Alison talk to him like they’re both soldiers.  

He nods and gives instructions for Willow and Charlotte to head down the ladder first, assisted by a muscular female soldier who Charlotte likes enough to feign a fear of heights for.  She blows them a kiss as she’s carried down over the sergeant’s shoulder.  

Emily leans against her father’s shoulder but takes Alison’s hand as well.  In a world that’s feeling kind of floaty and surreal, she wants to anchor herself between the two of them.  Her family.   _This is real._   She feels almost guilty, for being this happy when everything is still such a mess, but she can’t help it.   

Her dad is home.

Alison wants to get married.

Her dad can walk her down the aisle.  

He leans out and confirms that Charlotte and Willow are safely on the ground, then leads the three of them out onto the ladder.  The air is crisp and cold and the sky is still pretty cloudy, but Emily is sure there hasn’t been a day this beautiful in Rosewood in a long time.

As soon as his boots hit the ground, soldiers start lining up with deferential salutes and logistical questions.  He gives her a regretful look as he gets pulled away.  Duty calls.  But he’s been going away her whole life.  It’s just - now she can look forward to him coming back again.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Alison says, sounding a little nervous.  “About what I said - before.  I know you probably want to spend a bunch of time with your parents now, and we still have all this Hellmouth stuff happening and it’s a huge decision and - god, I’m still a Slayer and a mess and -”

“How do you feel about April?”

“April?”

“Unless you want it to be sooner?  We could fly somewhere warm.  Get married on the beach.”

“So, that’s a yes?  You’re saying yes?”

Behind Alison, Emily can see her dad’s broad shoulders in the middle of a group of officers in the distance.  She sees Hanna and Spencer holding hands as Faith and Buffy herd them towards the recovery tent, then notices Willow and Mona both rushing over - she doesn’t know if she’s ever seen Mona less concerned with looking cool and in control - to welcome them back.

Her whole life, she doesn’t know if she’s ever been this happy.

“Yes.”

Alison hugs her so hard she lifts her off her feet, then twirls her around and kisses her.

“God, get a room,” Melissa Hastings says, her voice slicing through their romantic interlude.  “And get a move on.  We have to get to the Hellmouth.   _Now._ "


	38. A is for Almost

Hanna doesn’t remember falling asleep, but it must have been sometime after the makeshift satellite signal worked, because the last thing she _does_ remember is Faith’s yelp of joy when she heard Mona’s voice.

No, that’s not true. The last thing Hanna remembers is Spencer sleepily kissing her goodnight. Like she’d been doing it for years. Like she planned on doing it for many more.

When Hanna wakes up, a little after sunrise, she badly wants some alone time with Spencer—to talk, or maybe _not_ talk—but everyone else is up already. Buffy and Faith are both a little grumpy after a night spent camping out on the living room floor, and Melissa is already trying to get them out the door and back to the school.

The power is on again, the storm having subsided, and Spencer prepares each of them a travel mug of coffee as they get ready to leave. “I could get used to this,” Hanna says softly as Spencer presses the mug into her palm and kisses her cheek.

“Me making you coffee?” Spencer replies, leaning down to tug on her boots.

“Spence. You know what I mean.” Spencer looks up at her, smiling. Hanna wants to say more, but Melissa is already outside, yelling at them to hurry up.

“Her majesty awaits,” Spencer murmurs with a sigh, taking Hanna’s hand without looking down at it. Hanna feels herself start to blush.

They decide to return to the school on foot, the roads seeming far too unreliable, what with all the trees and overturned trash cans. “It looks like the end of a bad sci-fi movie out here,” Hanna comments as they hustle toward the school. Those army dudes are ushering people down the street, all of them carrying guns that definitely weren’t issued by the Rosewood PD.

Buffy shrugs, exchanging a look with Faith. One that seems to suggest that Hanna hasn’t seen anything yet. “Well, there’s no big swirly opening to a hell dimension going all, ‘Hey, jump in if you want to save the world!’ So, it could be a lot worse.”

“Might still get that way,” Faith mutters.

Hanna’s Jimmy Choo booties weren’t exactly made for an urban hike through a post-apocalyptic looking wasteland, but she hardly notices the ache in her feet with Spencer’s hand in hers. Before she knows it, they’re back at the school, where even more army guys are flanking the building and a recovery tent has been set up. 

Faith lurches away from the group and pulls Mona into her arms, while Buffy kisses Willow soundly. Hanna glances briefly at Spencer, who’s looking straight ahead, her mouth widening in a gasp.

Hanna follows her line of sight, where a group of officers are clustered around a man who really looks an awful lot like Emily’s dad. 

“Oh my god,” Hanna whispers, blinking a few times. “It can’t be.”

“It is,” Spencer tells her. “He’s alive.” She looks at Hanna, smiling slightly. Emily and Alison are kissing deeply just a few feet away, but Melissa wastes no time in breaking up their fun.

Emily and Alison rush toward Hanna and Spencer, and Hanna doesn’t even think about it before letting go of Spencer’s hand to wrap Emily in a tight hug. “Wayne’s alive,” she murmurs, still in wonderment.

“I know,” Emily replies in something between a sob and a laugh, not even bothering to correct Hanna’s use of his first name. She pulls back, her face wet with tears and a huge grin on her face. “He’s here. And Ali and I…”

She slides her gaze over to Alison, who’s pulling out of a hug with Spencer. “What?” Spencer asks.

“We’re engaged,” Ali replies simply, eyes bright. Spencer claps her hands together.

Hanna feels warm at the news, and as she offers another hug to Emily she murmurs, “I’m sorry. I—I get it. Why you felt they way you did about my visions.”

Emily shakes her head. “It wasn’t my secret to tell, but it probably wasn’t my secret to keep, either. At least not where your mom was concerned.”

Hanna shrugs, her eyes involuntarily drifting to Spencer. “Maybe. But god knows I’ve kept some big secrets myself. Sometimes we need time to figure things out.” 

Emily glances between Hanna and Spencer, who in turn looks over at them. “You’re happy,” Em observes.

“We’re safe. You’re dad’s alive. All good things,” Hanna replies, but she doesn’t try to hide the grin spreading across her face. 

“That’s not why you’re happy,” Emily tells her, knowingly. Hanna bites her lip. She can’t tell Emily everything yet, not before she’s had a chance to talk to Spencer, but it’s hard to deny her joy in this moment.

Em looks like she wants to ask something more, but Melissa comes stomping back over just then, along with Charlotte. 

“Do you girls actually _want_ the world to end?” Melissa asks crossly.

“Let’s G-O!” Charlotte demands. “Back to Radley!”

“Where’s my mom?” Hanna asks. She scans the crowd and locates her mom on the other side of the recovery tent. “Mom!” she calls.

Ashley’s eyes light up and she hustles over to them, hugging Hanna fiercely. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“I’m glad you are too,” Hanna replies, feeling the last of her anger at her mom dissolve in that instant.

Her mom seems to survey the group. Mona, Faith, Willow and Buffy are coming over to join them, Ella and Giles are talking to one of the officers, Wayne Fields is telling a group of men something that looks important. 

“Let’s round everyone up,” Hanna’s mom says, seemingly to Alison and Charlotte. They all disperse, splitting off to gather the remainder of their group. Within minutes everyone is heading off on foot in the direction of the Radley.

Hanna feels a wave of nausea coming on, and she tugs Spencer toward the back of the line. “You okay?” Spencer asks with concern.

Hanna considers for a moment before offering a slight shrug. “I’m not sure. What about you?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

Spencer sighs and takes her hand again. They continue walking, just a few paces behind the rest of the crew. “I don’t know _what_ I feel. I thought it was hard to win before, but now it seems like the rules of the game are changing every minute.”

“I know what you mean,” Hanna replies.

“I’m tired of being scared,” Spencer tells her. “And I’m—” She starts looking a little choked up, and stops walking. Hanna squeezes her hand. “I’m kind of angry, too.”

“At A.D.?”

Spencer shakes her head. “At the world. I just figured out this—this part of my life that I think could make me really happy, and here we don’t even know if the world is going to be around long enough for me to find out.” She frowns. “That’s a really self-centered approach to the apocalypse, I realize, but it’s where I’m at right now.”

Hanna smiles, just a little. “You’re talking about us, right?”

“Yeah,” Spencer replies. She takes a nervous-sounding breath. “It wasn’t just a last night thing, was it?”

“Do you want it to be?” Hanna asks, already pretty sure of the answer.

“No!” Spencer says, so quick and loud that it pulls a bark of surprised laughter from Hanna. “I just didn’t know what you wanted. Still don’t, to be honest.”

Hanna closes the gulf between them, cupping Spencer’s cheek in her hand and kissing her. “ _You’re_ what I want,” she whispers against Spencer’s lips, and Spencer grins into their next kiss, tugging Hanna close.

Hanna could get used to this, too.

“We should keep going before Melissa murders us for holding up the operation,” Spencer mutters.

Hanna chuckles, twisting out of Spencer’s embrace but still holding her hand as they rush to catch up. No one else has stopped, but they must have seen them, because Emily offers Hanna a sly thumbs up and Alison waggles her eyebrows at Spencer.

The warmth of the moment is immediately shattered as her text tone chimes, along with Emily’s, Spencer’s, and Alison’s.

The four of them stop walking and whip their phones out. Alison reads aloud: “ _The world’s about to end, bitches, but one of you won’t live long enough to see it happen. Do you know where Suzy Clueless is? Because I do. Talk soon!”_

Altogether, they read, “ _A.D.”_


	39. Add It Up

It’s been one of the wilder nights he’s had in recent memory.  Little Bird was unmoved by his heroic entrance.  Modern women.  No one wants to be a damsel in distress anymore.  Nothing for a bloke to do but trail along after a heroine, hoping to save her from running headlong into the arms of the Reaper.  

Not that he’s complaining, mind.  The witchy one was all determined to fight their way across the post apocalyptic townscape to get back to the Hellmouth, and since Noel and his Magic Six Pack and Aria were on board, off they all went.  Jenna was a woman on a mission, blasting any obstacles with some serious witch fu.  They killed goblins and vampires and anything that came at them.  He and Noel cracked the necks of two raptor looking demons then power jumped over the crevices in the street. He felt his black coat billowing behind him and let out a barbaric yawp.

Unfortunately, the yawp attracted the wrong kind of attention, and they spent the next two hours carefully dodging a patrol of Captain America army types.  Eventually, Little Bird did some kind of hypno mojo that sent them all off to rescue an imaginary blonde girl from a well.  

And, as they kindly left the armored tank running, it would be rude not to take it for a little test drive.  Spike took the driving duties while Noel stood on the commander chair, his head and shoulders outside of the shell.  The girls were testing out the cannon, which was rigged up to some kind of energy pulse magic electro charge.  The first time they fired off a hit against a passel of ghouls, Noel got so excited he ripped off his shirt and started waving it overhead like a flag.  

Aftershocks were rumbling, but they were rolling along.  Noel joined him in a rousing off key chorus of Blister in the Sun, followed by a solid encore of Add It Up.  They might have gone on, but the ladies threatened to hex them if they didn’t shut up.

It’s not exactly the Boxer Rebellion, but he’s reformed now.  This counts as good clean fun.

The tank isn’t especially fast, an hour later they’re still on their way.  But Jenna’s getting antsy and insists Noel throw some kind of crystal into the engine parts, gives the groaning metal a rocketing boost.

He was really hoping the valet service at the Radley might still be operational, but no such luck.  Half the structure is sunk into the ground, the transformation from newly renovated to newly destroyed taking all of a few minutes, most likely.  He ought to write a poem.  Ode on a Pennsylvania minibar.  Ode on a broken box spring.  Ode on - well, he can think of a good title later.

“Can you get us inside?” Jenna asks, clutching his arm.  “Underneath the rubble?  There’s a tunnel.  I need to get to the tunnel.”

“Going straight for the Hellmouth’s jugular,” he muses.  But tonight, tonight he can do anything.  He feels bloody invincible.  He yanks Noel inside the tank by his belt buckle so the top can close, then turns and has Aria fire the energy cannon to blast a path for them.

Noel does something else another crystal that throws up a force field around them.  Lets him get straight down into the old basement tunnels with not a problem in the world.

Charlotte’s old hideout is no longer plush and Hellmouth homey.  It’s covered in dust and the floor is cracked.  Jenna whips aside a throw rug and reveals a manhole cover that she lets Spike rip off with his brute strength.

The four of them clamor down a ladder and into a darkened sub basement that Jenna quickly lights up with a torch.  Then she gets to work setting up mirrors and candles and talismans, hurling rapid instructions about unloading a ritual sword from her bag, and the right placement for a demon heart that smells like it could be from a Ghora.

There’s a big spell brewing, he can feel it in the vibration of the air.  Taste the magics on the tip of his tongue.  The Hellmouth is breaking its own gravity, its energy leaking out like steam from the Earth’s core.  Witch wants to channel it, that’s smart.  Whatever she’s doing, she’s desperate.  Anxious.  Can’t be ending the world, then.  That’s a calmer sort of anticipation.  Whatever she has cooking, it’s personal.

And if Little Bird wants to help, so be it.  Maybe they’re all friends here after all.

Plus he can take them both, magic or no magic, need be.  He imagines himself tackling Noel, the boy’s abs shining like someone just oiled them as he goes down.  The thought distracts him.  Makes him miss the finishing touches Jenna’s putting up as she’s readying the spell.  He’d marked it as some kind of summoning ritual, but the symbol she’s carving into the floor - he realizes what it is a half second too late to do a bloody thing about it.

“What are you playing at?” he asks, turning sharply towards Jenna and Noel.

But Jenna already has a knife at Aria’s throat and a dead look in her glazed eyes as she answers.

“A sacrifice.”


	40. To Hellmouth and Back

Charlotte surveys the scene, quickly. Hellmouth: opening. Noel Kahn: shirtless. Jenna Marshall: pressing a knife against Aria’s throat.

“Aria!” Alison calls, trying to get to her, but Noel holds his hands up and Ali is trapped in place, like a dog behind an electric fence. “What are you doing?” she grits out.

“Lovely to see you all,” Charlotte tells the rather tense group. “I’d invite you back to my chateau for drinks, but it seems we’re in something of a rush.” She nods toward Jenna. “Unless you three are hoping to end the world, but I have a feeling you might be up to something else.” 

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Noel replies.

“You’re as ass, y’know that?” Spike calls out. He seems to be struggling against some kind of invisible magic restraints, but Charlotte notices that he's rather focused on Noel’s stomach. She can’t blame him. The boy is _ripped_.

Noel flicks his wrist and a red cloth gag appears over Spike’s mouth. “Sorry, hot stuff. Nothing personal,” he tells Spike with a wink. _Kinky._

Charlotte purses her lips. “Jenna, I’m glad you’ve lost the glasses. The blind act is so last season.”

“What are you all doing here?” Jenna mutters, knife still at Aria’s throat.

Charlotte breathes through her nose. She’s working hard not to show how quickly her mind is racing. Or how fast her heart is beating. “We have our reasons.”

“Get away from her!” Spencer yelps, holding tightly to Hanna’s hand.

“You leave us be,” Jenna instructs. “This is our business.”

“Like hell we’re leaving!” Faith scoffs, trying to bodyslam the forcefield. Charlotte will give her this: what the girl lacks in thoughtfulness she makes up for in bravery.

“Faith, wait,” Willow says carefully. “I might be able to counteract the magics.” She closes her eyes and starts reciting a spell, but when she opens them, nothing happens.

“Looks like you’re all tapped out,” Noel remarks with a grin.

Willow frowns and tries again. This time when she opens her eyes, they’re blazing with fury. “The earthquake! Did you create that so I’d burn out from the protection spells?”

“I wish we could take credit,” Jenna says. “But that was just a twist of fate.”

“Twist of fate, my ass,” Charlotte mutters. She looks at Jenna’s face, then over at Mona. Even if Willow’s powers are weakened, even with the powerful magics at play, they could probably get Aria back without too much of a struggle. And that would clearly ruin whatever plan Jenna and Noel have in play. 

“I have an idea!” Charlotte states, her eyes never leaving the knife at Aria’s throat. “Despite her current state, Willow over here is a very powerful witch. Best in the biz. And if you two are up to what I think you’re up to, you might just want to chat with her before you go on with your little goat sacrifice.”

“Hey!” Aria chirps.

“Shut up!” Noel barks as another red gag appears over Aria’s mouth. “How do we know you’re not blowing smoke, Drake?”

“It’s DiLaurentis, these days,” Charlotte replies. “And I’m just saying, why spill blood if you don’t have to? I think we all know what you’re really playing at.”

“I don’t,” Hanna murmurs.

“If you kill her right now, there’s no way you’re getting out of here alive,” Charlotte continues.

“I can confirm that,” Mona chimes in. “Between all of us, we could tear you apart.”

“You two have become pretty annoying since joining the good side,” Noel tells them.

“I can help,” Willow announces. “Not sure what you’re up to, but I can help.” As if to prove her point, she snaps her fingers, rattles off a spell, and a small raincloud appears beside her. 

Mona carefully steps aside as water starts flowing down toward her. “Impressive.”

Jenna huffs, slowly lowering the knife from Aria’s throat. “You have five minutes,” she directs to Willow. Aria moves to get away but Jenna locks her in some magical restraints of her own. “Not a chance.”

Buffy steps in front of Willow. “You’re not talking to her without me there,” she tells Jenna. Cute, but Charlotte knows that Jenna and Noel could knock the little Slayer flat on her ass, if they wanted to.

“We don’t have time to waste,” Jenna announces to the group.

“Funny, that seems to be the theme of the day,” Charlotte replies, then tosses over her shoulder, “You okay, Aria?”

Charlotte spins around to face her, as Aria frowns and tries to shift in her invisible restraints. She’s suspended a few feet in the air, but she looks more or less physically unharmed as she offers a quick nod. Charlotte can feel Spencer’s eyes boring into her with curiosity.

“We can't just leave her like that!” Spencer insists.

“What other choice do we have, right now?” Charlotte asks. She considers for a moment, doing a brief calculation in her head. “Willow, we’re going to need you soon. But I’m feeling generous, so why don’t our little magic friends go first?” 

Willow and Buffy approach the forcefield with caution and Noel reaches a hand toward them. “They get through. No one else.” He pulls them through. Faith tries in vain to jump in after them, snarling like a wolf when she doesn’t make it.

Charlotte turns her flashlight up to its highest setting and peers around the space. She might as well use the time to take inventory of what they’re working with. She hasn’t ever seen it go full-steam like this. It’s certainly Hellmouthy, and Jenna has it all set up for a spell, too. Makes her miss the twinkly lights.

“Mona,” she calls over. “You have anything for this?” She nods toward the forcefield.

“I can try,” Mona offers. “But it seems pretty powerful.”

Charlotte nods. “Okay. I’m going to take another lap around. See if I can find a weak spot.”

Melissa hustles over, walking in step with her. “Hey. How’s it looking?”

“Could be worse,” Charlotte replies mildly. It’s not exactly a lie, but it isn’t the truth either. 

“Charlotte,” Melissa whispers, tentatively touching Charlotte’s shoulder. “Tell me. C’mon.”

Charlotte sighs and stops walking, allowing herself exactly three seconds of enjoying the contact. “It’s pretty bad. In all likelihood, that earthquake was just the very beginning. And what with that situation…” She nods toward Jenna and Noel, who seem to be making Willow pretty nervous.

“Okay,” Melissa says. “Well, we’ll just have to fight like hell, then.”

Charlotte cracks a small smile. “You ready, action girl?”

Melissa stands at her full height. Her face is serious, but there’s a small light in her eyes. “Always.”

“Good,” Charlotte says. “Then you should convene with Ashley and Alison. We’re going to need all Slayers on deck.”

Melissa rolls her eyes, but Charlotte can tell that she’s privately pleased to be included in the roster of Slayers. “If everyone would stop making out with one another for five minutes, we might actually stand a chance.”

“Jealous?” Charlotte quips.

Melissa scowls and walks away without another word. No sooner has she gone then Spencer pops up beside Charlotte.

“Can I ask you something?” Spencer asks. She almost seems timid. Not a great look on a Hastings.

“I’m surprised you’re not clawing at the walls to free your friend,” Charlotte comments. There’s a humming in the air, the beginnings of the spell. If she focuses, she might be able to figure out the pattern.

“Mona’s working on…something,” Spencer replies, sounding unsure. 

“Weakening the forcefield,” Charlotte supplies.

“Yeah. I’m going to help when she needs me, but I can work more than one mission at a time,” Spencer says, knitting her fingers together. 

That almost makes Charlotte chuckle. “Ask away. But I’m not promising I’ll tell the truth.”

Spencer furrows her brow. “That was a joke,” Charlotte tells her. “I make you very uncomfortable, don’t I?”

“Give me an honest answer and I might reevaluate,” Spencer replies. _Touché_. “We found a file down here. Before Buffy and everyone showed up. It was the first time we’d seen Mary’s name, and it seemed to indicate that she was a separate person from your mother. Before she became a—”

“Blood-sucking demon with a very nineties-chic wardrobe?” Charlotte supplies. Spencer nods. “Well, mind games and manipulation weren’t the only skills Ali learned from our mom,” Charlotte continues. “Mom loved a good alias, too, and Mary Drake was her favorite. When she wound up pregnant and unmarried, she thought Mary’s name would look a bit more respectable on the birth certificate.”

“Was she a patient at Radley?” Spencer asks.

Charlotte wags her hand back and forth in a ‘sort of’ gesture. “She was and she wasn’t. Mom’s family thought she was a little too…I believe the word they used in those days was _eccentric_. They had her committed, but she was a smart girl. She suggested they use a different name, so as not to tarnish the family reputation, and then she used her two personas to get in and out. Soon I think she started believing she actually had a twin.”

“That can’t possibly have worked,” Spencer remarks, incredulous.

Charlotte shrugs. “If you think security was bad when you were at Radley, it was even worse in the late ’80’s. Besides, Mom knew a spell or two, in a pinch. If she had to conjure up her doppelgänger for a couple hours every once and a while, she could make it happen.”

“Did she tell you all this?”

“What do you think?” Charlotte retorts with a mild scoff. “My mom never told me anything. I figured it out, over time. Talking to people who worked at Radley. Reading through files. When I found my mom’s birth certificate, it confirmed by suspicions.”

“Her family must have known she was leaving. I mean, _they_ at least knew she wasn’t a twin.”

Charlotte smiles, just a little. “Here’s the thing, Spence. Families realize pretty quickly how easy it is to move on. You’re lucky yours actually cared if you rotted in this place.”

Spencer looks down, chagrined. But it’s clear she has more questions. “Out with it,” Charlotte demands, trying for another weak point. No luck.

“Do you know who your dad is?”

Charlotte raises her eyebrows. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No?” Spencer replies, befuddled.

“God, I know Mom’s had her dalliances—I mean, just ask Ashley Marin over there—but I was sure you would have figured it out by now.” She crosses her arms, regarding Spencer carefully. “Honestly, I thought better of you, Spencer.”

“Who is it, then?” Spencer demands, sounding frustrated.

“Guys!” Willow calls from a few feet away, her voice sounding frayed. “This…this is bad. And we’re running out of time.”

Charlotte keeps talking. Spencer might as well know the truth, if the world’s about to end. “Well, it’s not your dad, if that’s what you’re thinking. But it does make me the sister of another one of your little pals.” She grins. Even in times like this, it’s always fun dropping a bombshell. Especially one this good. “It’s Byron. Aria is my sister.”

Spencer blinks at her. “What?”

Charlotte doesn’t have time to follow up on that, annoyingly, because there’s a deep rumble from behind them, and when Charlotte whips around, three figures are standing before her. 

Her eyes widen. Wilden and Reynolds, she knew about, but the third member…she wasn’t so sure.

“I thought you were dead,” she says mildly, ignoring the way hair is starting to stand up on the back of her neck.

“That’s funny, Cece,” Ian Thomas replies with a smirk. “I could say the same thing about you.”


	41. The Call That Never Comes

Melissa’s stomach churns at the sight of Ian Thomas. Some relationships just won’t die. She shifts her weight to her back foot, glancing over at Buffy and Alison and Faith and Ashley. Slayers. Plural. The real kind. The ones who got the call, the powers. They’re all in loose fighting stances, like they’ve spent their whole lives in fights like this. Like it’s just another Tuesday. 

Not her. She’s been waiting for this her whole life. The best defense? A mother fucking good offense. 

“Hello, Lover,” she says, manuvering towards Ian. The second she’s within range, she kicks out with her heel, aiming for the heart. The forcefield throws her back casually, but as she hits the ground, she sees Alison and Buffy moving forward to fight, Buffy giving Willow a subtle sign to break it down.

“Lexington-Concord,” Spencer says, suddenly at her side and helping her up. 

“All you need is someone to fire the first shot,” Melissa nods. “Now get back before you get hurt!”

“We come in peace,” Wilden smarms, although he’s saying it as he throws a bolt of magic through the forcefield, which breaks just long enough for him to grab Ashley and throw her across the room hard enough to dent whatever’s left of the wall. “We don’t _need_ to kill you all. Not that it wouldn’t be a hell of a lot of fun.”

“We need allies,” Ian continues. “We see your little spell mojo here, and it dovetails with our needs.”

“The enemies of your enemies,” Garrett says, looking at Jenna. 

“This town is all enemies!” Jenna says, her voice dripping with venom. “Every one of you!”

“You’re a little girl,” Wilden tells her, pulling his gun. “Playing with dolls. You can’t handle this kind of power.”

“Handle this,” Jenna tells him, her eyes going black as she drops the forcefield and sends a flock of ravens at his head. Wilden throws up his arms to defend himself as the Slayers move forward in attack formation. 

Whatever it is, it’s a stalling tactic. Jenna is scurrying around, chanting and hoping the battle covers her long enough to get her spell finished. Noel is throwing spells at anything that gets near her, but he’s looking a little drained trying to keep Spike and Aria in magical restraints as well.

A couple of random vamps appear, also in Rosewood PD uniforms. Great. Wilden can still call for back up, apparently. The Slayers are distracted, and Willow is busy trying to figure out what Jenna’s up to and working on a way to free Aria. She seems oddly hesitant to cast anything with the Hellmouth’s energy hissing like a gas leak all around them. Melissa steps in with a taser just as Charlotte pounces with a stake. The first one is dust before the second one stops blinking stupidly.

“Boys,” Charlotte says, rolling her eyes. “Vamping makes them stronger, not smarter.”

Melissa sets off a cannister of garlic mace in the second vamp’s face, and he falls to the ground choking as Spencer and Hanna watch in amazement.

“Can I stake him?” Spencer asks. Typical.

_”No,”_ Melissa tells her. “What part of get back do you not understand?”

“You let her stake one,” Spencer grumbles, shooting an aggrieved look at Charlotte.

“Look at her,” Charlotte grins. “She’s like your own little Mini Me!”

Melissa glares at her, too. Then stakes the writhing vamp swiftly, kicking at the pile of dust with her shoe.

Another three vamps are approaching, and Melissa can’t say for sure whether they came from above or below. God, if things are starting to come out of the Hellmouth, that’s a very bad sign. She remembers when Wren was her Watcher, the gruesome illustrations in some of those books. 

She tries to push Spencer and Hanna towards the wall, as Mona bares her neck and makes a come hither gesture towards a vamp who looks like he might have been on the football team a few years ago. He lumbers towards her excitedly, only to have her pull a small sword out of her boot that she uses to decapitate him cleanly.

The other two newbies are advancing on Melissa and Charlotte waving torches. 

“What, no pitchforks?” Charlotte asks. “Everybody’s cutting corners these days.”

“No one bothers with the classics anymore,” Melissa agrees. The first vamp swipes with his torch, singing the end of her hair. Which she just spent an hour conditioning this morning.

She grabs Hanna’s purse and pulls out her hairspray, using it as a blow torch to set fire to both vamps. Their kill count is at five, but the regular slayers are still trading blows with the NAT vamps, exchanging words, too, by the sound of it.

Then it happens, just like it always does. Alison gets into trouble, gets too close to Ian who sees an opening and tears a chunk out of her neck. She falls to the ground, blood spurting from the wound. It looks bad. Really bad. Maybe an artery. Emily is tearing off to her side, putting her hand against it, totally focused and completely defenseless as the other vamps start to multiply, start to get a crazy light in their eyes at the scent of slayer blood all over the ground. Faith drops back to hold them off and Ashley is kneeling next to Emily and Alison - her emotions overriding the need to work the mission. And then Spencer and Hanna break away from the comparative safe zone that Melissa’s been busting her ass to establish for them. Mona chases after them, of course, and then her sister and the others are forming a human shield around Alison, with nothing but a gaudy crucifix and a spritzer bottle that might be Holy Water between them and certain death.

She’s not a real slayer. She doesn’t have super strength or lightning fast reflexes or accelerated healing. But she is not going to stand by and watch them snack on her baby sister like she’s a lunchable. She might be a thirty year old potential, but she’s still a Hastings.

Melissa and Charlotte charge into the fight, Charlotte firing off spells and shoving an Initiative issued blaster into Melissa’s hands. She takes out everything that moves, throws energy grenades and stakes so many vamps she starts to lose count. There’s blood and dust in the air and she’s completely lost track of time. Also, she’s starving.

“When this is over, do you want to go out to dinner?” Charlotte asks, shouting a little to make herself heard.

“Martinelli’s,” Melissa answers. “Steak and lobster.”

Before Charlotte can answer, Wilden lets out a wolf whistle that carries across the battlefield and causes all of his fighters to disengage, then back off warily. He’s smiling from ear to ear in a way that clearly isn’t good. Melissa follows his gaze to Alison, who’s sitting up and looking a little woozy, but otherwise fine. Her neck wound is closed. At her side, Emily is looking tired and radiantly relieved, still clutching her hand.

“Gentlemen,” he announces. “We have exactly what we need.”

Charlotte elbows her in the ribs. Hard.

Melissa turns just in time to see a flash of light next to Jenna. It morphs and expands, taking on a familiar human form. Melissa’s eyes widen in shock.

But she shouldn’t have taken her eyes off the NAT guys. Ian notices her distraction and shoot a tranquilizer dart right at her neck. She’s not a Slayer. She doesn’t hear it whistling towards her. Doesn’t grab it in midair and crush it in her hand. It hits her squarely in the neck. Drops her to the ground as everything starts to get fuzzy.

His laughing face is the last thing she sees before everything goes black.

He always was a cheater.


	42. Everything That Rises Must Converge

She’s heard of being above the fray before, but this is ridiculous. Aria is immobilized and suspended in the air, fifteen feet above the fight raging across the Hellmouth. She’s been struggling against her magical bonds, but even if she manages to break them, she doesn’t know any quick spells to cushion her fall.

Obviously. Noel wouldn’t have taught her any of those. 

She looks down at him, he’s sweating and looking a little shaky, his energy dispersed between keeping Aria and Spike captive and trying to protect Jenna from any creepy crawly creatures. Noel sets a vamp on fire with a wave of his hand and Aria feels the gag dissipate.

God, it seems so clear now. Jenna and Noel are only ever out for themselves. Whereas Ali and Emily and Spencer and Hanna - even Charlotte and Melissa - are fighting for their lives together. When Ali goes down, everyone circles her. When Hanna has a vamp coming towards her, Spencer pushes in front of her and stakes him through the heart. When another monster starts towards Spence, Melissa appears out of nowhere and slashes his chest open with a loose piece of rebar. It’s all a whirl of love and death and blood and protectiveness. It always has been. It’s like a picture that doesn’t come into focus until you’re standing on the other side of the room. A book you only understand after you read the last page.

They couldn’t have stopped Ezra. Nothing could have. Well, maybe the police. But her friends - all they did was love her enough to let her make her own mistakes, and she really knocked it out of the park.

Ali is still down, but it looks like Emily is doing something, stopping the bleeding. As she focuses on them, it’s like the current of the magic changes. Or maybe just redirects. Or maybe there’s so much Hellmouthy power in the air, it’s doing strange things. But even though there’s still a whole cavern between them, she can hear everything as if she’s standing right there.

“Em, it’s good. Don’t drain yourself,” Alison is saying.

“Shhh…” Ashley Marin admonishes. “Don’t try to talk yet.”

“I need...to get back to the fight.”

“Take it from me, young lady - what you need to be doing is thinking about the future.”

Hanna’s mom seems like she’s trying to distract Ali, rather than physically restraining her from barreling back into the battle.

“Hanna told me,” Ashley continues. “She told me that you and Emily are engaged?”

Ali nods, and she does still seem a little woozy. 

“I have something for you,” Ashley tells her, pulling a ring out of her shirt pocket. The diamond is huge and sparkling, the band a delicate white gold. “This belonged to your mother.”

Aria sees Ali twirl the ring between her fingers, sees her slide it onto Emily’s finger as a tear slips down her cheek. She has a memory of Ezra the night he proposed, and she has to look away.

She focuses her energy on Jenna, maybe she can get a read on what she’s up to. It looks like she’s weaving, actually weaving threads together while she chants. Spike said it was a sacrifice, which sounds bad, but Jenna has tears running down her face as she works. The chant is in Latin. Or Greek. Something Spencer would recognize and probably be able to translate.

She casts a quick glance over at Spencer with a pang of longing. She should be down there. She should be fighting at their side. She looks over at Spike, who tried his best to warn her, and sees that he’s shouting abuse at Noel.

“One of these blokes gets a taste of you, and it’s curtains for your Witch, you know that? Meantime, Little Bird gets smashed to bits from the fall! You’re not thinking this through, Mate!”

Noel doesn’t answer, but it seems like the words are making him think twice. He’s covered in a sheen of sweat, and his hair - for the first time that Aria can remember - isn’t perfect. It’s plastered to his head like it, too, is exhausted.

Her mom and Giles are doing something - it looks like they’re trying a spell to cut through her bonds, but the fall has them holding back.

Spike continues arguing with Noel. “Let me down. I won’t fight you or bite you. Unless you ask nicely.”

Noel shoots him a wary look of disbelief.

“You have my word as a gentleman! I was a gentleman, you know!”

Jenna finishes her weaving, and something silver shines through the braid that she’s fashioned.

“Take me,” Spike says. “Use me for the spellawhatzit. Let Aria go!”

“It has to be her,” Jenna intones. “No one else.”

Aria’s stomach drops. The silver line. It’s not thread. It’s a string. From an instrument. 

A violin.

“It has to be me,” she agrees, a hand over her mouth.

Jenna meets her eyes and nods. “You felt guilty. That’s how I knew.”

Aria swallows around the lump in her throat. “Are you going to kill me?”

Jenna doesn’t answer, but she nods to Noel, and he lowers Aria to the ground, throwing up a new forcefield around the two of them. It’s a private bubble in the chaos of the fight. Aria shifts against her bonds still trying to break free. Jenna snaps her fingers and removes them. 

Aria stands up straight. Waits to speak until she’s mostly sure there won’t be a quaver in her voice. “Is this an eye for an eye, a life for a life kind of thing?”

“I know you didn’t have murder in your heart,” Jenna says, looking almost sympathetic. “But you had it in your hands.”

She takes Aria’s hands and squeezes them, and there must have been a spell because her palms are stinging and she can feel blood oozing out. Jenna examines her handiwork.

“Heartline. Loveline. Lifeline.” She puts Aria’s hand against the braid and casts some herbs into a fire that makes it flash and emit a pale green smoke. The braid is humming, it’s making a noise that might be music, maybe a sonata. Jenna places the braid and Aria’s hand against the glass of a large looking glass. Blood smears the surface, and then disappears, but nothing else happens. The sonata ends and it all goes quiet.

Jenna starts to sob. She pounds a fist against the mirror. “Give her back!” Her voice is hoarse and breaking. “Give her back! She didn’t deserve this!”

Aria puts her hand over Jenna’s and thinks of who they all were the summer before Ali left. Before she got called. Before any of this happened. None of them deserved this. Not that it’s ever mattered before. She thinks about Emily breaking down the night Maya’s body was discovered. The sound of Hanna’s body hitting the ground after she was hit by the car. Spencer with her thousand yard stare in her room at Radley. Ezra’s boyish grin and cold heart, the way his eyes glazed over after his neck was snapped. Shana’s body in a pool of blood. It all seems like the same tragedy, like their version of insanity is going to be repeating it over and over and over again. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, as tears start to run down her own cheeks. She wipes her eyes and then tries to pry Jenna’s hands off the mirror and the braid. But as soon as her hand touches Jenna’s, there’s a rumble from behind the mirror. Jenna flattens Aria’s tear strained bleeding palm against the glass and a silver streak of light shoots out.

Shana Fring is blinking confusedly at the two of them. 

Noel must have been keeping a close eye on the situation, as he teleports Aria out of the bubble and drops Spike to the ground. He pulls a potion out of his pocket and pours it on her hands to heal them. 

Spike growls at Noel as he rushes over. “You alright?”

Aria nods, still sniffling a little. “What happens now?”

Noel motions to where the other Liars are gathered. There seems to be a pause in the fight, Melissa is on the ground but Charlotte is using magic to revive her.

“For now,” he says, “I guess we’re on the same side.”


	43. The Pain of Humanity

It doesn’t take long for Willow to determine that she doesn’t like these NAT guys. They instantly remind her of the dudes she avoided like the plague in college, and that was before they started fighting. But, weirdly, it sort of seems like they’re stalling now. They’re certainly not making a move to charge again.

“What are you waiting for?” Buffy asks, body poised for another fight.

Ian Thomas smiles. “Oh, you didn’t think it would be just us, did you?” he asks. “We’ve got a few more guests on the way.”

“Then get on with it!” Hanna retorts. “We don’t have all day, here. Bring us to your leader, or whatever.”

“Not just yet,” Detective Wilden replies. “First, I think it’s time for a family reunion.”

A thunderous rumble sounds from the tunnel entrance, and out strolls Mary Drake. Tall, dressed in black like always, and looking rather lethal. Alison gasps and grabs Emily’s hand.

“Hello, my darlings,” Mary says in her creepily soft voice, staring daggers at Alison and Charlotte. “How lovely to see you.”

“What’s going on?” Ashley asks nervously.

“You see, we found ourselves in a win-win scenario with Mary here,” Wilden explains. “We were going to just kill you all, but Mary wanted to create a vampire family, and who are we to reject more bloodsuckers? So we’ve been working together for a little while.”

“You tipped her off that Jason had ratted out Lucas, didn’t you?” Mona asks with disgust. “I knew the timing of the attack in his room was suspicious.”

“You always were a smart cookie, Mona,” Wilden remarks. “A shame that you’re so goddamn crazy.” He nods toward Charlotte. “Same goes for you, Drake.”

Charlotte wordlessly flips him off, staring between Mary and Melissa, who’s still passed out on the floor. Willow can see her mouthing a spell, and suddenly Melissa awakens. She locks eyes with Charlotte, who subtly motions for her to stay down.

“The hotel rooms—you rigged them with cameras?” Ashley pieces together.

Ian nods. “Not just the hotel. We’ve got your houses covered, the Brew, Lucas’s loft—

“I knew it!” Mona chirps.

“Nos Animadverto Totus,” Ian continues with delight.

“That one’s not fish of the day, right?” Buffy whispers to Willow.

“It means ‘We See All,’” Garrett Reynolds explains. “Mary, you ready?”

“I most certainly am,” Mary says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She starts approaching Alison and Charlotte. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long, long time.”

“Jessica!” Ashley says in an almost pleading tone, moving to stand in front of Alison.

Mary looks at her sharply. “Don’t even try it, Ashley. Jessica is long-gone. And nothing can stop me now.”

“Wanna bet?” Noel Kahn asks with a smile, tossing up another forcefield.

“You’re going to regret that, young man!” Mary thunders, but she can’t move any farther.

Noel ignores her, spinning toward Willow. “How long is that re-ensouling spell going to take?”

“How long can you hold them off?” Willow asks, relieved to be on the protected side of the forcefield this time. Though just from the look on Noel’s face, she can since that this one is weaker.

Noel glances back at the increasingly agitated crew. Willow follows his line of sight. Already Ian is pawing through a satchel, surely looking for something to break the spell. The NAT Club and Mary might not be experts in the magics, but they’re powerful and determined enough to try and find a solution quickly. And clearly Willow isn’t the only one feeling a bit tapped out; this isn’t Noel’s best effort.

“Not long,” Noel replies, strain in his voice. “Probably a half hour at most.”

“I’ll do it in twenty.”

Willow takes a deep inhale, trying not to seem rattled. She performed a re-ensouling when she was just a child, and she’s a big grown up now. She could do this spell in her sleep. In fact, she’d probably prefer to do it in her sleep than in the circumstance she’s currently finding herself in.

This is, really, less than ideal. But, desperate times.

“What do you need?” Charlotte asks.

Willow glances around. With a churning regret, she realizes that not everyone from their crew made it over to this side of the forcefield. Buffy is here, thank goddess, but Faith, Melissa, Alison, and Spike are on the other side still, already starting to battle it out with the wretched NAT Club and Mary Drake. Willow knows that Noel’s forcefield opening maneuver won’t work this time; weakening it would just be foolish at this point, and they don’t have time to waste.

If Willow messes up, if the re-ensouling doesn’t work and any of those people get killed in the process, she’s going to have an awfully hard time not feeling responsible.

“ _Willow!_ ” Charlotte says insistently. “My mother and sister are on the other side of that thing, and I’d really like this day to end without one of them killing the other, so what do you need?”

Willow straightens up. Around them is chaos, absolute mayhem, but she has a job to do. It always seems to come down to this, in the end; Buffy and Spike and Faith will always fight, and Giles will always have his research, but at the end of the day, the magics are what make things happen.

It’s how Willow saved the world, more than once. It’s also how she nearly destroyed it.

“I thought we’d have more time to gather the necessary items, but one of you wouldn’t happen to have an Orb of Thesulah lying around, would you?” she asks the group.

“I have one, but not with me,” Mona replies with a note of apology. When she receives a strange look, she shrugs. “What? I found it. Seemed like it could come in handy someday.” Her eyes drift over to Faith, who’s currently kicking Ian Thomas in the head. “That’s my girl,” she says softly.

“I might have one,” Jenna announces.

Willow whips around to face her. Jenna’s barely talked since her girlfriend reappeared, understandably so. It was hard not to think about Tara when Willow saw the look of relief on Jenna's face.

“Check my bag, over there,” Jenna instructs.

Willow does so, finding some candles, a few small animal bones, and the Orb. She breathes out a sigh of relief. “We can do the spell,” she tells the group.

Buffy smiles proudly. “Can I help?”

“Yeah,” Willow says, starting to get things set up. “What with all the energy leaking out of the Hellmouth and the spell Jenna just performed, there’s a lot in the air right now. It’s very powerful in here, very charged.”

“You’ll need help staying grounded,” Buffy surmises.

“Something like that,” Willow replies. She sits down and takes Buffy’s hand, closing her eyes. She thinks fleetingly about Tara, about the work they did together to find Buffy when Faith had stolen her body. She thinks about restoring Angel’s soul to his body, more than once. She thinks about all the other apocalypses that she’s survived; about how hard she and Buffy and all of them, really, have worked to come back and stay here and do good. And then she starts to chant:

“ _Quod perditum est, invenietur,_  
_Nici mort, nici al fiinţei,_  
 _Te invoc spirit al trecerii…_ ”

The ground beings to rumble. Something is cracking and shifting, which means that the forcefield won’t hold much longer.

“ _Gods, bind her, cast her heart from the evil realm,_  
_Let her know the pain of humanity, gods._  
 _Reach your wizened hands to me. Give me the sword…_ ”

Willow keeps chanting as the Orb begins to glow, feeling her body start to give way to the magics. It’s always the most intense high.

There’s a flash, and she feels that familiar snap as the magics crackle inside her. And then she’s blinking her eyes open.

The Orb is no longer in her hands. Mary is on the ground, out cold. The forcefield has been lifted, as evidenced by the angry NAT Club members charging toward them. And the Hellmouth is fully opened, dozens of vampires crawling up out of the earth.

Ian Thomas is staring at Willow with a smirk.

“Thanks for the jumpstart, witch girl.”


	44. The Gift

Everything starts to happen very, very quickly. One minute Hanna is clutching at Spencer’s hand, watching Willow perform a spell, and the next Wilden is holding her in a headlock.

“No!” she yells, trying to elbow him in the ribs, but it doesn’t do anything. Dozens and dozens of vampires, really gross-looking ones, are crawling up from the earth. One grabs at Emily’s leg. Another leaps onto Noel’s back.

Hanna is struggling against Wilden’s grip when it happens. Just a flash, at first.

_It’s too late for a broad with legs like that to be out and about. Something bad is bound to happen._

No, no, no. Not now, and not here, of all times and places. And she’s getting awfully tired of this same damn vision. She wrenches her head around, searching for Aria. She’s fighting, doing some impressive-looking spell-thingy against four vampires at once, but she’s okay.

The vision takes over again.

_The girl is in the trench coat. Walking down the wet cobblestone street._

_Time seems to move too fast or too slow, but never at the right speed. The girl is getting too far ahead._

_Girls like that always end up in trouble._

_There’s a man, suddenly, stepping from behind her. Wearing a fedora._

_“Darlin’,” Ian Thomas calls out. “Don’t you want to talk to me?” His face is clear this time._

Hanna snaps back again, just as Ian poofs away in her vision. She feels dizzy; her mind is getting exhausted as it’s forced to jump between both worlds.  
_  
Up ahead, in front of the girl, is Jenna Marshall. Her eyes are bright, but still she holds her cane out in front of her. Someone is beside her._

A third girl? That part is new.

Hanna blinks rapidly. “Hanna!” Spencer shouts from where Ian has a vice grip on her. She turns and spits in Ian’s face. “Let me go!”

“I’m okay!” Hanna calls back, unconvincingly.

“Shut up!” Wilden snarls.

Hanna’s too distracted to reply, her eyes darting around to locate her friends. Alison and Buffy are tag-teaming a particularly grotesque-looking vampire, while Charlotte and Mona seem to be working on some kind of protection spell, with help from Jenna. Shana still looks pretty dazed, and Mary is out cold on the floor.

“You can end this!” Garrett yells above the mayhem, his arms locked around Emily. “All we need is blood!”

“Like hell you’re getting that!” Spencer barks back.

“What do you mean by blood?” Giles asks from the corner, where he’s been working on another spell with Willow and Ella.

“We need our other member back,” Wilden tells him.

“Lucas?” Hanna murmurs.

Ian actually laughs. “You think that loser provided us anything but money? Try again.”

“Jason!” Melissa guesses as she delivers a roundhouse kick to a vamp, who snarls in response.

“Still wrong!” Ian cackles. Spencer’s attempts to fight him off do nothing. The sight makes Hanna want to scream. And kill him, but she wanted to do that anyway. “I’ll give you a hint: it’s someone Little Miss Suzy Clueless is awfully familiar with.”

“Ezra?” Aria gasps.

“Ding, ding, ding!” Ian says with delight. “We have a winner!”

Hanna just catches Faith staking two vampires at once when the vision takes over again.  
_  
“Down these mean streets, a girl must go…” Spencer intones._

_The girl, the first one, steps forward, her legs a little shaky._

_“…who is not she herself—”_

She looks taller now.

“You need Aria’s blood to bring him back,” Hanna states. It’s a revelation, but it doesn’t feel like the right one.

“Not quite,” Wilden murmurs against her scalp. The warmth of his breath makes her want to throw up.

“Ezra was NAT?” Aria says sadly as a vampire poofs away in front of her.

“Are you really surprised?” Garrett asks.

“We don’t need the blood of his little girlfriend,” Ian tells them.

That should make Hanna feel relieved, but it doesn’t.

“The blood of a Slayer, then?” Buffy guesses. “We’ve been there before.”

“Getting warmer!” Ian replies.  
_  
The second girl, the one with Jenna, spins around. It’s Aria, and she looks like she just stepped off a movie set. She raises a finger to her lips in a “Shh!” gesture._

Who’s the first girl, then?

Hanna feels her stomach continuing to roll. She was wrong, she was wrong about something important. Her eyes shift to Emily, who she notices now is wearing an engagement ring. A big, beautiful, shiny one.

No. No, no, no, no, no.  
_  
The sidewalk begins to open under the first girl. Cobblestones are busting up off the ground, whirling into the air. Below is nothing, only black._

“The blood of a healer,” Emily says solemnly.  
_  
Hanna just barely catches a glimpse of Emily’s face before she’s swallowed by the darkness._

Hanna’s eyes snap open to see Ian reaching around Spencer and clapping his hands together. “Now you’ve got it!”

“Emily!” Hanna screams.

“Shut up!” Wilden tells her again. “What do you say, Em? Want to save the world today?”

Ian grins. “It hurts less if you don’t fight it.”

“No!” Alison shrieks.

“We don’t mind, either way,” Ian continues, jovially. “We can either let more vampires up from the Hellmouth to kill you, or you can hop in yourself.”

Wilden picks up the thread. “But if you don’t sacrifice yourself, things are looking pretty grim for all your friends.”

Another dozen or so vampires—the ones that look like they need about a gallon of moisturizer apiece—climb up from below. It’s like they just keep coming, like no matter how many are killed, there are always more.

“There has to be another way,” Alison says with authority. “Emily is _not_ sacrificing herself.” She says it as though it’s obvious, though Hanna doesn’t disagree.

Then suddenly Hanna is being set free by Wilden, but before her confusion can settle in, two vampires appear on either side of her, one lunging for her neck.

“Hanna!” Spencer yells.

Hanna just barely misses getting her jugular bit when the other vampire picks her up around the legs. She beats against his back, screaming all the while.

Aria attempts to rush over and help, but a huge vampire cold-cocks her, sending her small body flying across the floor. Ella is trying to hit a vampire over the head with her spell book, but he just keeps coming. Spike and Noel each stake a vampire, but are then approached by four more. Ashley very narrowly avoids having her stake used against her.

“Put me down!” Hanna shrieks.

The vampire does so, tossing her roughly on the ground, before another two are on her. Mona manages to stall one of them by leaping on his back, and Hanna uses the opportunity to jump back up, delivering a couple of blows to the vamp wearing Mona as a backpack. He shucks Mona off easily and makes another beeline for Hanna, who ducks low to avoid his massive hands.

At this angle Hanna manages to see Emily’s face. She’s staring between the opening to the Hellmouth and Hanna, and there’s something in her eyes. Resolve. A decision.

“No!” Hanna whispers, her stomach sloshing with dread.

“You can let me go,” she tells Garrett softly. “I’ll do it.”

“Emily, please!” Alison begs, breaking away from the pack of vampires she was fighting and rushing over to Emily. “You can’t!” She takes Emily’s hands, lurching away from the opening as a vampire tries to grab at their ankles.

Hanna strains to hear over the various sounds around them, but she suddenly feels herself being lifted again, the vampire squeezing her so tightly that her head starts to pound.

Emily turns to Alison. “I love you,” she says definitively. Then she kisses the back of her hands and lets them drop.

“Emily!” Hanna cries out. She’s vaguely aware that she should be dead now, that the vampire could easily have bitten her, but she can’t focus on that right now. She doesn’t even know when she started to cry.

Emily edges closer to the opening. She turns and looks at Hanna. “Tell my parents I love them, okay? And can you tell my dad…tell him that I was brave?”

“Emily,” Hanna repeats.

“Hanna. Please.”

Hanna closes her eyes. She’s half-expecting another vision, but none comes. Instead, she has a flash of sitting on the porch with her head on Emily’s shoulder. She sees Emily dancing next to her, even when Hanna didn’t know the steps. She recalls how it felt to hug Emily, long and tight, once they were back in Rosewood after a lifetime away. Hanna felt more scared than she’d ever admit the second she stepped foot in that town again, but it was impossible to be afraid with Emily’s arms around her.

Emily has always there, Emily has always strong, Emily has always made Hanna feel safe. And she’s trying to do it again.

When Hanna opens her eyes, all she can say is, “Okay.”

Emily’s face is wet as she nods and faces the crevice once more.

“No!” Alison screams, grabbing her wrist. “Stop!”

“Alison?” a voice murmurs from behind them. Ali whips around to stare at her mother.

Emily uses the split second of distraction to pull her arm away and leap headfirst into the Hellmouth.


	45. Bloody but Unbowed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure why AO3 has added the note that this chapter is by me, lco123, but for the record, speakpirate wrote this chapter and the next one, and I wrote the two that follow.

Alison moves as quickly as she can towards the point where Emily just dived into the crevice of the open Hellmouth.  She stakes two vamps without even looking at them.  The word “Noooooooo” is echoing through the cavern, she barely realizes it’s coming from her own throat.

 _The library smells like musty books and the metal shelving is cold against Alison’s bare shoulders.  Emily leans forward and kisses her.  A quick peck.  The world suddenly seems warmer.  Brighter._  

She sees something moving faster than her eye can fully track.  It’s a dark blur.  Her mother.

_Emily is so still, but her chest is moving, she’s breathing and she’s in the fresh air.  Her eyelids flutter.  There’s so much Alison wants to tell her.  But she’ll be safer if she doesn’t know.  Ali kisses her and watches her fall back asleep.  She stays until the sun goes down, then hides in the woods when the other Liars show up._

She’s dimly aware of more fighters bursting onto the scene.  A whole battalion, it looks like, teleported in by Willow.  Turning the tide of the fight in their favor.  She couldn’t have gotten that together two minutes sooner?

_"Ali, are you asleep?”  She could stay still, breathe deep and steady.  Take how much she wants this and bury it down deep.  She can turn her heart into a cold metal box.  Like her mother before her.  She closes her eyes and take a deep breath.  Then she rolls over._

She’s skidding on her knees to the edge of the crevice.

_Emily is steely eyed, she’s standing up straight and looking hard at Alison.  It’s the first Christmas after her father’s funeral, and a line of a poem they read in high school rises up in Alison’s mind.  Bloody but unbowed.  “You aren’t going to leave,” Emily says, her voice firm.  “Not without an explanation.  Not again.”_

_Alison looks at her, the woman she’s loved for more years than she can count.  Emily.  The one good thing in this crazy fucked up world.  The best person she’s ever met.  The one she always thinks about after hard nights out on patrol, the ones that make her wonder why she does this.  The answer is always the same.  Emily._

_“I can handle it,” Emily insists, her eyebrows crinkling with concern.  “We can handle it, whatever it is.”_

_Alison remembers the spiel.  The one the Grunwald delivered to her.  To be a Slayer is a sacred duty.  It is a grave duty.  A secret duty.  No one must know._

_But Emily isn’t done yet.  “I love you, Ali.  But I just - I don’t want to waste more time.”_

_Alison swallows hard.  “Okay.  Carpe Diem.  I have something to tell you.  A secret.”_

She doesn’t believe in God.  Or higher powers.  She believes in herself.  In the strength of her hands, the magic in her blood.  But she says a silent prayer to anyone up there who might be listening.  Please.  Please.  Please.  Don’t let her be dead.

Looking into the Hellmouth is a horror show.  There’s a river of what looks like frothing molten lava bubbling at the bottom.  It emits an ominous glow, the nuclear waste of the underworld.  It’s at least three canyons deep, and the crevice seems to narrow as it goes.

And there, maybe a thousand feet below, are two figures.  Her mother has managed to grab Emily, to wedge them into the narrowest point of the crevice to break the freefall.

Gasping with relief, and ignoring the sulpheric smell of the air, Alison starts looking for handholds and starts climbing carefully down.

She’s halfway there when she realizes the extra vampires and other creatures that have been pouring out throughout the battle are crawling out of the ooze below.  Emily jumping in must have stopped their progress temporarily, but an army of demons is advancing from below and her mom isn’t going to be able to keep them propped in place and also fight off the hoard.

There’s someone chanting at the lip of the Hellmouth, hopefully not trying to open it further.  But no.  It’s Noel’s voice.  He finishes the spell with a low whistle.  

Something massive emerges from the slime.  Something with wings, that’s rising up faster than the vamps, knocking them off the walls like dominoes with its claws.  It has silvery scales and a forked tail and it’s snorting smoke and bursts of fire.

And then Mona is standing next to Noel, _crooning_ a jazzy little tune that sounds like it’s in Latin.  But the dragon seems totally into it, he’s swooping around in time with the beat.  When Mona hits a sustained high note, he shoots up through the part of the crevice where her mother and Emily are.  His shoulders knock a quantity of rock out of the way as he widens the chasm and takes the two of them on his back.  Alison feels herself get plucked off the wall by a clasping talon, and then they’re zooming upward.

They land in a pile, Alison has to dust herself off a bit as Emily and her mother slide off the dragon’s back.  The dragon itself shuffles over to Mona rather shyly, like a cat that wants to be petted on the head.

The whole scene of the battle has changed.  Faith has Ian in a headlock as Melissa stakes him.  Ashley picked up a sword somewhere along the way and she brings the blade against Wilden’s neck with all her strength.  His head detaches just as his mouth forms the word, “Bitch!”  It trails off to a dusty finish.  Garrett Reynolds must have surrendered - he’s bound and gagged and possibly unconscious, slumped against the wall.  All the others have all been dusted or subdued.  The flow of vamps from below has stopped.  Willow has a small force of Wiccans doing some mojo to fuse the rock together and close the Hellmouth.  Everyone is dusty and a little banged up, but they look more or less fine.  The battle is over.  They won.

There’s a haze of smoke and ash in the air, and as it clears, she can see Emily running towards her.  

She chokes back a sob, but then Hanna steps in front of her and smacks Emily with her handbag.  Hard.

“Don’t you ever do that again!” Hanna scolds her.  “Let the whole world get sucked into Hell or whatever.  We need you.”

Spencer gently pulls Hanna away, even as she nods in agreement.  “We’re in this together.  Either we all jump into the Hellmouth to save the world, or none of us do.”

“My mom always said I’d probably jump off a bridge if you guys did it first,” Aria says, taking Hanna’s other arm.

And then Emily is in front of her, smiling shyly, but looking a little apprehensive.

“Don’t you ever do that again!” Alison says, trying to keep the tears out of her voice.  “You don’t get to do that!  You don’t get to make me love you this much and then sacrifice yourself like it’s nothing!”  

Emily smiles for real this time.  The smile that’s been making Ali a little week in the knees for the last decade at least.  “But I didn’t die.  Aren’t you glad that I didn’t?”

She opens her mouth to respond, but Emily interrupts her with a kiss, and she loses track of everything else she was going to say.  When Em’s hand brushes her cheek, she can feel the gold band of the ring she’s wearing and she wonders if she might actually die of happiness.

“Ah-he-hem!” Melissa Hastings clears her throat loudly, for the third time.  “If the two of you are done with your little softcore scene, the rest of us are ready to get out of his pit.”

“Young love,” Jessica sighs to Ashley and Ella.  There’s something in her voice that sounds unmistakably fond and affectionate.  Alison breaks the kiss, but leaves her arms around Emily’s waist.

“Mom?” she says.  “Did it work?  Are you-”

“Soulful,” her mother admits.  “It did.  I’m like a new person.  Or an old person, I guess.  Not old like mothballs in the attic of course, just - more the person I was before.  Before -”

Alison doesn’t hear the next words out of her mouth.  She whips around towards a new sound.  A flaming wooden arrow screaming through the air hurtling directly towards her mother’s heart.


	46. Immortal Desire

“I’m like a new person,” Jessica DiLaurentis is saying.  “Or an old person, I guess.  Not old like mothballs in the attic of course, just - more the person I was before.  Before -”

Giles is making a mental note to sit down and interview her later.  Restoring the soul of a vampire is tricky business, and still a new field of study, after all.  A first hand account could be tremendously valuable.  A whistling sound cuts through his train of thought, and before he can even react, Ashley Marin has leapt in front of Jessica and grabbed a flaming arrow out of mid-air.

Buffy blows it out with a somewhat dramatic huffing sound, as all heads turn to the back corner of the room where a man in a fedora is stepping out of the shadows.

“Oh dear,” Giles mutters.

“Byron?” Ella says, staring at him in disbelief.  “What are you doing here?”

“You warned me,” he says.  “I didn’t believe you.  Vampires.”

“Dad,” Aria says, “It’s okay.  She’s on our side, now.”

“Your side?” Byron says, in a tone of fake astonishment.  “She’s a vampire.”

“Is he, like Toby from the future?” Hanna whispers to Spencer.

“This isn’t any of your business, Byron,” Alison retorts, with a venomous edge of warning in her voice.

He ignores her completely, launching another arrow that Alison blocks.  It’s clear from the look on her face that she’s contemplating hurling the projectile back at his head.  She tosses it on the ground and Charlotte stomps on it.

The crack echoes through the empty space.

Jessica is staring at Byron as if he’s something unpleasant she’s discovered stuck to the bottom of her heels.  A piece of masticated gum, or perhaps a trace amount of canine excrement.  Giles fights the urge to clean his glasses.

“Yo, we’ve got this under control,” Faith says, folding her arms across her chest and giving him an insolent look.  “We don’t need you to mansplain vampires to us.”

“Yes, you’re _clearly_  out of your depth,” Jessica says in a tone of casual dismissal.

“Quiet,” Byron hisses.  “You have nothing to say that’s worth hearing.”

“Now really,” Ella says, moving towards him.  “This is ridiculous.  You’ve known each other for years.  She’s our friend.  She didn’t ask for this to happen to her.  Put down the crossbow.”

“She didn’t ask for this?” Byron says, advancing towards them.  “What was she doing getting into cars with strange men?  So many cars.  So many men.  Were you discussing Proust?  Looking over your stamp collection?”

“How is that any of your business?” Ashley asks him, angrily.  

A terrible realization begins creeping in the back of Giles’ brain.  They don’t know.  They have no idea.

He moves in front of Ella, pushing her behind himself in a way that he hopes is subtle.  Buffy catches the motion, and jerks her head to Faith.  The two of them shift their positions to stand with Alison and Ashley in front of Jessica.

“And honestly, I wouldn’t be so high and mighty about infidelity,” Ella tells him.  “It’s a bit like the pot calling the kettle an adulterer.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Jessica asks with a raised eyebrow.  “You’ve always been so obvious, Byron.”

Aria’s head swivels towards her.  “What do you mean?  Are you saying that you - and he -”

“Did things unfit for a child’s ears?  What can I say?  I was having a period of low self-esteem.”

“This is why I’m like this,” Charlotte confides to Aria.  “Little Sis.”

Aria’s eyes go wide at the revelation.

“Don’t worry!” Charlotte assures her.  “That whole hitting people over the head with rocks thing?  I’m totally over it.”

“Just like I was over him,” Jessica informs them.  “Quicky.”

“Shut up,” Byron snarls.  He’s moving closer.  Giles makes eye contact with Willow, who shuffles Hanna and Spencer behind Melissa and Charlotte.

“I see,” Giles says.  “You, perhaps, declined further amorous advances?”

“Speak English,” Spike chides him.  “This isn’t a mash at boarding school.  You’re saying he fancied you, and you shagged him once and then sent him on his way, yeah?”

“Byron!” Ella exclaims.

“It’s true,” Charlotte confirms.  “He was always creeping around, always watching her through the windows.”

“Stalking his prey,” Jessica announces dramatically.

“It was him?” Alison says in disbelief.  “ _He_  did this?  He turned you?  He’s a -”

“Vampire,” Aria says, her face pale.  She’s pointing at the giant looking glass that Jenna used for her spell.  Which shows a clear reflection of the cavern and the battle debris and the humans, but Byron’s reflection is noticeably absent.  “Dad?”

“Dad,” he says, with a chuckle.  “That’s a title for mortal men, who seek to outlive their paltry years through their children.  Men who live their tiny, pathetic lives hemmed in by rules and laws and archaic notions of right and wrong.  I gave that up.  I sought out something better.”

“Is there going to be a quiz after this lecture?” Buffy asks.  “Or can we be fighting now?”

Byron makes a leap into the middle of the group and puts a knife to Aria’s neck.

“Let me have Jessica,” he insists.  “Give me her soul.”

“Take your hands off my daughter,” Ella says, her voice full of fury.  

Aria tries to stomp on his foot, but he laughs and presses the blade tighter against her throat.  The others are frozen in place, trying to decide the best way to get her out of this safely.

“I turned as many like minded young men as I could.  We were invincible.  We knew everything that happened in this town.  We decided who would live, who would die, would we would kill, who we would keep for our own.”

“We See All,” Melissa says.  “But pretentious and Latin.  We should have known it was you.”

“Little girls,” he says, scornfully.  “Always thinking you’re so grown up, so ready to take on the world.”  He vamps out, his features distorted into his demon face.  “Well guess what, ladies?  The world has fangs!”

Those are his last words, as he spontaneously bursts into flames.  Shana tackles Aria and rolls her on the ground to make sure she’s not on fire as well.  Jenna stands behind him as his skeleton burns and then poofs into dust and ash.  Her hand is still extended, the rush of magic strong in the air.

She scatters his ashes with her cane.  “I owed you one,” she shrugs.  “Don’t get used to it.”


	47. The World Turned Upside Down

Her business is destroyed; years of hard work and more money than she wants to think about have gone completely down the drain. She’s probably got a couple of broken ribs, her wrist is definitely sprained, and her hair has never needed a deep-conditioning so badly. And yet, as the group finally, _finally_ emerges from the remains of the Radley basement and out into the fresh air, Ashley can feel nothing but relief.

Everyone is pretty quiet, still reeling from the recent revelations, from the almost and definite fatalities. Aria and Ella both look shell-shocked, understandably so. Ashley can imagine that it’ll take a long while for the two of them to process Byron’s betrayal. Ashley herself can’t quite believe that he hid his vampirism from her all these years. But that’s okay. They all have lots of time to figure it out, because the world is not about to end.

The streets are virtually empty, most everyone having evacuated to the Initiative tents set up at the school. The sidewalk is cracked and there are a few small trees blowing around, but Ashley knows that in a few days’ time it’ll all be chalked up to the storm and the earthquake. She’s lived through enough almost-apocalypses to know the score. Nothing like this, though. She really didn’t think they’d make it out this time.

Hanna takes Ashley’s hand and squeezes it tightly. “Do you think it’s really over?” she asks, her face so full of worry that it makes Ashley’s heart ache.

“I do,” Ashley replies with conviction. “This town may still have a monster or two, but I think the worst is done.”

Hanna eyes her warily. “I’ve thought that before.”

Ashley pulls her into a one-armed hug. “I know, honey. Me too.” She presses a kiss to the top of Hanna’s head. Sometimes, if she concentrates, she can almost recall the way Hanna’s head smelled when she was still a baby—the two of them together in that hospital room, all those months after Ashley technically died, when her entire life changed. To think that her world once existed without Hanna in it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” she murmurs into Hanna’s hair.

“I get it, Mom,” Hanna tells her. “I just—I felt so scared, when I heard it.”

“I know,” Ashley acknowledges. “Imagine how I felt everyday you were growing up. I was terrified you would turn out to be like me.”

“I would be lucky to be like you,” Hanna replies.

Ashley’s heart twists at that. “Not just like me,” she clarifies. “I was scared of you being a Slayer too.”

Hanna pulls back slightly from the hug, frowning. “You’re not disappointed that I’m not? Like, I’m not letting down the legacy?”

“Oh Hanna,” Ashley says tenderly. “Not at all. I am so incredibly proud of you.” She notices Spencer behind Hanna, clearly wanting to talk to her but not wanting to interrupt. “For the record, I think you chose very well,” Ashley adds.

Hanna looks puzzled and turns to where Ashley’s eyes have drifted. Her face lights up when she sees Spencer. “Hi!” she greets warmly.

“Hey,” Spencer says, inching closer. Her expression is so bright, so loving, and Ashley can’t help but smile. This, right here, is how Hanna should always be looked at.

“I was just telling Hanna that I approve,” Ashley tells Spencer, whose cheeks pink just a bit. “It’s always best to cut men out of the equation anyway, I think.” Ashley might imagine it, but she thinks Spencer’s gaze volleys ever-so-slightly over to Jessica. Maybe she’s figured that out too. She’s always has been a smart girl.

Ashley can tell that the girls want a moment to themselves, so she steps away, surveying the scene around her. Ella and Aria have their arms wrapped around one another, but there’s a strength there. A resilience. She knows in her heart that they’ll be okay. Aria could win a hundred battles with the ferocity of her friendships, and Ashley will always be there for Ella. And, when Ella’s ready, Giles will be too, if the fond way he’s looking at her is any indication.

Alison and Charlotte are talking to their mother, who appears to be offering an apology with her usual brand of reserved warmth. Emily stands with them, her arms wound around Alison’s. Spike and Noel are comparing battle scars, while Jenna clings tightly to Shana. Buffy and Willow are kissing. Ashley manages to overhear a moment of conversation between Faith and Mona:

“I’m not a person who says I love you,” Faith is saying.

“It’s okay,” Mona replies immediately. “I love you too.”

Ashley breathes in deeply. The town may be more or less destroyed, but they’ll come back. They always do. The monsters are gone—at least for tonight—and that’s what matters.

A tap on the shoulder breaks Ashley out of her reverie. 

“I haven’t given you a proper hello,” Jessica tells her, voice like honey.

Ashley quirks an eyebrow. “And what would that entail?”

Jessica smirks. “You always were a flirt.” She’s still in her Mary Drake attire, hair dark and dramatic, eyeliner barely smudged. But she’s undeniably different. Undeniably Jessica.

“Do you think you’ll move back home? Fix up the DiLaurentis house?” Ashley asks, working hard to sound uninvested. “Alison’s really let your garden go.”

Jessica lifts her chin. “Somehow, after all of this, growing tomatoes sounds fairly dull, I must admit.”

“Imagine that.”

“Charlotte will want to travel, I presume, but Alison should keep the house,” Jessica says. “Lord knows after everything I’ve put her through, she deserves it.” She grimaces. “Though I can’t imagine staying in that rat-infested hellhole Mary deigned to call a motel.”

Ashley closes her eyes, a memory rushing back.

_Jessica DiLaurentis is just full of surprises. After hiring Ashley on the spot, she’s invited her out for a celebratory cocktail. And Ashley discovers that despite her previous judgments, Jessica is actually rather fun. Odd, and somber, to be sure, but she’s a wonderful storyteller and incredibly generous. And she has the most lovely laugh._

_They go to the Bradbury, the Grille, and finally one more bar just outside of town that serves pink drinks. And when Jessica walks Ashley to her door, she does the most surprising thing of all._

_She kisses her._

“My house is pretty big,” Ashley says before she has time to second-guess it. “And I’m pretty sure that Hanna will want to stay at Spencer’s as long as they’re both in town.”

“They’re in that new stage,” Jessica replies knowingly. “All bright-and-shiny. Do you ever remember feeling that way?”

_“I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” Jessica confesses, then shakes her head. “No, I’ve been wanting to do that for years.”_

“I do,” Ashley murmurs. “But not for a long, long time.”

_The next day, Ashley walks into Jessica’s office, closes the door, and kisses her fiercely._

“We could feel that way again,” Jessica muses.

“Perhaps,” Ashley will allow. “And you—and Charlotte, too—are welcome to stay with me, if you like, for as long as you wish. What do you think?”

_Ashley plans to go to Jessica’s house with flowers, to ask if maybe they could solve this madness with Alison together, and then perhaps make a real go of it. She’s been alone for so long, and Jessica has too. But it doesn’t have to be that way._

“I think that sounds wonderful,” Jessica replies. Her face betrays nothing, but in her eyes Ashley sees joy. Excitement, even.

_When Ashley gets to the DiLaurentis house, Jessica is nowhere to be found. A few days later they find the body, and that’s when Ashley knows: this is what happens when she wants something. This is what happens when she lets herself love someone._

Ashley wants to say more, but Hanna comes bounding back over, Spencer’s hand in hers. 

Ashley holds Jessica’s gaze for a beat, her heart feeling fuller than it has in a long, long time. It’s going to be okay. 

No, better than okay. Ashley’s done with just surviving. She’s ready to live.

“So, Mom,” Hanna says. “What happens now?”


	48. That's Immortality, My Darlings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now we come to the final chapter. This story has been a blast to write, from the initial brainstorms to where we are right now. Thank you so much to everyone who took a chance on a crossover. We so appreciate you reading and commenting.

It’s been a super busy week, and Faith is ready to _sleep._

Well, first she’d like to eat a hamburger, then maybe climb into the jacuzzi with Mona in their ridiculously nice room at Ashley Marin’s new fancy-pants hotel, and _then_ she’d like to sleep. But none of those things will be happening, at least not for a little while, because today’s the big day. One of many, really, but according to Buffy and Willow, today is the _big_ big day.

The two of them keep calling it that, their eyes bright and hands clasped together. Faith has to confess, she’s finding it harder and harder to muster much annoyance at those two these days. Not when she and Mona are, admittedly, probably even more all over each other. And not when Buffy and Willow have finally made it official, casually tying the knot a few days ago, despite all of the other things happening.

“Why now?” Faith asked when Buffy requested her and Giles’s presence at City Hall. “I mean, you don't want to fly to Paris, or someplace?”

Buffy shrugged. “We figure, we’re all here. Who knows the next time that’ll happen?”

Faith had to concede her point. So now, here they are, on the biggest day in a string of them, and Faith is working hard to seem alive. Upbeat. She does have some work to do, after all. Currently, she’s arranging chairs. Not exactly the most make-or-break part of this operation, but highly necessary on a day like today. 

Faith has just finished her third row when she hears footsteps behind her. When she turns, Ashley is standing there.

“Faith? The mayor is looking for you,” Ashley tells her.

Faith nods. “Okay. Well, I shouldn’t be too much longer here.”

“I’ll pass that along.” Ashley smiles and heads back outside. Faith has noticed a little spring in her step recently. She’s guessing that it might have something to do with Jessica DiLaurentis. It’s like a Hellmouth love story: the re-ensouled vampire and the vampire slayer. Buffy knows _all_ about that cliché. 

Faith goes back to arranging, but a few minutes later she feels arms wrap around her from behind. And yeah, her body totally melts into the embrace, but what of it? She and Mona are long past exchanging “I love you’s”; the jig of her heart is very much up.

“How’s it going?” Mona asks against her ear. 

“Good,” Faith replies, involuntarily tugging Mona’s arms tighter around her midsection. “How’s everyone else?”

“Busy cooing over one another.” Faith can practically hear the eye roll in her voice. “You’d think Hanna and Spencer have been back in New York for five years, rather than six months. But Ali and Em are all over them.”

“When does Aria get in?”

“Oh, she’s here,” Mona tells her. “Jason DiLaurentis wanted to take her to lunch.”

Faith wrinkles her brow. “But…isn’t Charlotte Jason’s sister? And Aria’s? How does that work?”

Mona snorts. “You get used to it eventually. Between all the affairs and secret children, I’m pretty sure everyone in this town is related somehow.”

Faith twists around, finally facing Mona. “Don’t you mean everyone in _your_ town?”

Mona beams. “I guess I should get used to that, huh?”

“Damn straight,” Faith says with a smile. “Now, what do we do next, Mayor Vanderwaal?”

\-----

“Where the hell is Aria?” Alison asks, storming into the side room. “She was supposed to be here an hour ago!”

“She’s with Jason,” Charlotte replies from the couch. “And no, the irony is not lost on me.”

“What irony?” Hanna asks from the love seat across from her.

Charlotte shrugs. “Well, now two of my siblings are dating. Jason probably wanted me to know how that feels.” She looks pointedly at Melissa, who winks as she hands Charlotte a cup of coffee, before dropping a kiss to her lips and sitting down beside her. “It’s worth it, though.”

Spencer squints, tilting her head to one side. “Is that really irony, though?” She leans her head tiredly against Hanna’s shoulder; they’ve been traveling for a while, Charlotte knows. Still, she’s kind of proud of Spencer for daring to challenge her, even slightly.

“Maybe not irony,” Charlotte will allow. “Kismet, I suppose.”

“What’s kismet?” Hanna whispers to Spencer.

Spencer smiles and kisses her softly. “It means ‘meant to be.’”

\-----

“So, tell me what you’re working on,” Jason prompts, pushing his elbows forward on the table.

Aria feels her skin start to prickle. She’s been half-dreading this question since the moment she sat down with Jason, and has been pointedly talking about everything else she can think of. They’ve spent the past ten minutes talking about napkin holders, so she knew this was imminent.

“Something personal,” she says quietly.

Jason nods. Surely he has enough skeletons in his own closet to understand that. Still, she’s ready for the interrogation. “Okay.” He glances around the restaurant. “This place isn’t as busy as I expected.”

Aria frowns. “You’re not going to ask any followup questions? Try to find out what I mean by ‘personal’?”

Jason shrugs. “No,” he replies. “It’s not like a game, Aria. I’d love to know more about your work. But it’s just that: _your_ _work_. It isn’t my business. If you want to share, I’m all ears. If you want it to be private, that’s fine too.”

“I’m just not used to that,” Aria confesses. “People not asking questions. Guys—not trying to get inside my mind.”

“I totally get that,” Jason says with a small smile. He really is cute, with his longer hair. Aria has an inexplicable desire to run her fingers through it.

She takes a deep breath, setting her hands on the table. “Well, maybe I’d like to tell you a little bit. You see, I’ve been writing about my family…”

\-----

It’s like herding cats, with this crew, but finally everyone is here and in position. And not a moment too soon, because the chairs are already filled.

“Are you nervous?” Buffy asks Alison from the side room.

“No,” Alison tells her, then quickly amends that to, “Yes. I’ve just—I’ve never done this before.”

“You’ll be great,” Buffy assures her. “Just speak from the heart, and be honest. You don’t need to be anyone but yourself.”

“And Emily?” Alison asks her. 

“Right here!” Emily calls, entering through the side door.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Melissa says chidingly.

Emily shrugs, kissing Alison’s cheek. “I had to see you. How are you doing?”

Alison smiles, her whole demeanor changing with Emily close. “A little nervous. But okay. You?”

“About the same,” Emily replies. “Better now, though.” 

The two of them together warms Buffy’s heart, but she knows they’re in a bit of a time crunch. “Emily, I think you should head out front.”

Emily nods regretfully. “Alright. See you out there, love.” She drops a kiss to Alison’s hand and slips back outside.

“Okay, it’s just us now,” Buffy reports. She looks at the group assembled around her: Faith and Alison and Ashley and Melissa. They’ve come to mean a lot to her, these four. They did all help save the world together, after all.

Willow opens the side door. “Buffy? It’s time.”

Buffy nods and takes Alison’s hand before she has time to think about it. “You ready?”

“No,” Alison admits. “But I will be.” 

They walk out together. This sight never fails to make Buffy’s whole body tingle: all of the girls, these brave, strong young women, ready to be trained. Ready to be Slayers. Buffy has never particularly liked talking in front of a crowd, but she’s gotten more and more used to it over the years, and she can’t deny how inspiring it is to stand in front of these young women, all overflowing with potential.

Still, today she nudges Alison forward. It’s kind of a passing-of-the-torch moment, and it’s not like she’ll be around to oversee this particular training sight. No, soon she and Willow will be on the road again, and it’ll be up to Alison and Faith and everyone who’s staying to keep this place safe and good.

Buffy can’t think of any people more up to the challenge.

In her first official act as mayor, Mona made the decision to allocate one of Rosewood’s newest buildings as the latest training facility. Jessica DiLaurentis, with her connections and cash, helped make that plan a reality, and Buffy is so grateful for it. This is the perfect spot, and luckily, everyone has not only a job, but a place. 

Ella and Giles, still in that new and giggly state of dating, are helping Willow and Aria with their spell station. It’s weird to see Giles so giddy, but Buffy will take it if it means happiness for those two. Jenna and Shana aren’t here, but a mysterious package containing some rare and expensive artifacts appeared on the church steps last night, and Willow has them featured prominently in her display.

Hanna is going to talk to the girls about her visions and harnessing the power within, while Spencer is going to lead a seminar on leadership. Emily plans to talk about her healing abilities, and the importance of healers and Slayers working together. Some of these girls may not know what they are yet, she’d pointed out. Or who they are.

Spike is going to work on combat skills, while also assisting Noel in his lesson on magic and makeshift weapons. Buffy doesn’t know how Spike got Noel to agree to help, but she thinks it might have something to do with the way those two keep smirking at each other.

Jessica, Mona and Charlotte are overseeing everything. Buffy doesn’t know how they would have gotten all this done without the three of them. She’s pretty sure they could rule the world together, if they wanted to. She’s just thankful that they’re using their abilities for good.

And then there are the four Slayers, standing front and center.

“You can do it,” Buffy whispers to Alison.

Alison nods, takes a deep breath, and steps forward. Despite her nervousness, her voice is loud. Powerful.

“I have a question for each of you,” Alison begins. "Are you ready to be strong?”


End file.
